


The First Time...

by bouncymouse



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncymouse/pseuds/bouncymouse
Summary: The first time Reno kissed her, it didn't really count. Twelve months can change everything...
Relationships: Elena/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII), Tifa Lockhart & Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Reno
Comments: 106
Kudos: 108





	1. January

The first time Reno kissed her, it didn’t really count.

It was all pretty hazy.

He was drunk. Maybe it was the tequila or the fact he skipped lunch. The salt and lemon seemed an excellent substitute until suddenly they weren’t, and the room was lurching sideways while the ceiling hit the floor.

He stood at the bar (okay, he _leaned_ on the bar) and half-listened as Tifa phoned him a taxi. Rude was on assignment in Gongaga, and Reno thought it would be wild to tag along with the boys from R&D. It wasn’t. They didn’t get out much and it showed. He suggested the tequila as a last attempt to inject some fun into the evening and now he was the last one standing.

 _Almost._ Everything was spinning. He stumbled onto a high stool and only just made it.

“What’s your address?” She sounded annoyed.

“Not goin’ home,” he slurred.

Unable to stomach it, he folded his arms on the bar and rested his forehead on them. When he closed his eyes, the darkness carried on turning.

He heard the receiver click into place, followed by neat footsteps rounding the bar. “How much money do you have?”

“Gimme beer.”

“We’re _closed_.” She sighed. “You’re lucky it’s raining, or I’d throw you out on your ear.”

He tried to look up at her and nearly fell off his stool.

When she finally swam into focus, she was standing in front of him. “Give me your wallet.”

He laughed a lot harder than he should’ve. Tifa clicked her fingers and waved her hand under his nose.

“ _You_ get it.” He pressed his forehead back against his wrists and closed his eyes. The bar smelled like kitchen cleaner, acidic in his throat.

They’d come a long way since the smoking ruins of Sector Seven. When Tseng told him Rufus wanted eyes on the bar, Reno laughed in his face, assuming it was some kind of sick joke. If it was, they still hadn’t let him in on it. The Turks had been her regulars for the best part of a year now, and while Tifa was frosty towards them at first, she slowly thawed out. They were moving forwards somehow, despite the darker moments in their history. 

Reno wondered if she was searching for her own brand of redemption. Avalanche weren’t saints either, and the brave new world they found themselves in was harsher than anybody could have predicted. Life in Edge was all about second chances, and Tifa was the queen.

They were _almost_ friends. Maybe that was why she grabbed his lapel when he ignored her demand and started fumbling for his wallet.

“Hey!”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said. When the left side proved fruitless, she moved on to the right.

He’d have snapped back, but he was very aware of her thighs pressed against his knees. Momentarily derailed, he stared at the narrow strip of bare skin exposed by her shirt and tried to force his thoughts into some kind of order.

Somewhere, in the fog of tequila shots and poor decisions, alarm bells started ringing.

Oblivious to his inner monologue, she didn’t step back. Instead, she slipped the notes out of his wallet and started counting them out, one by one. “Well… it looks like there’s enough here to get you home… Have you decided whether you remember where you live?”

He was drunk, not stupid. He tried to point that out, but his mouth wouldn’t work and she was looking at him like he’d grown another head. He decided it was best to let her do the talking.

She flipped his wallet shut, and when she reached for his jacket to replace it, he somehow caught her wrist. Almost as surprised as she was, he prised the wallet from her fingers and shoved it back in his pocket.

He tried to, anyway. It took two attempts.

She was trying not to laugh. “Somebody’s going to have a sore head in the morning.”

He stared at her. There were two Tifas standing in front of him, and they were both smiling.

No… not smiling. _Smirking._

It was a very pretty smirk.

His brain tried to backpedal and failed. There was too much history. Too much bad blood.

 _Too much tequila._ She was still smiling that funny smile, and suddenly his imagination was running away from him.

“Reno?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You okay?” She made a show of ducking to his level, balancing on the balls of her feet. He glimpsed black lace and smooth skin beneath her shirt. Her dark hair shone as it fell around her shoulders.

He nodded.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. Fairly often, actually, when she breezed past him in that tiny little skirt she sometimes wore, or he cracked a joke and her whole goddamn face lit up. There weren’t any rules against window shopping.

Tifa was a distraction. Unfortunately, he was easily distracted. It was a _bad_ idea.

“Taxi’s going to be here soon.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Can you walk?”

He slipped off the stool. Staggered into her. She braced her hands against his chest, and suddenly her expression was filled with wide-eyed concern.

He needed to get out of there. He needed to—

“Reno?” She peered up at him. One of her hands was resting along his open collar. Her fingertips were warm against his skin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He stared at her. Swayed. _Blinked._ To his liquor pickled brain, the minutes dragged on. However long it really was, it was more than enough time for him to put his fucking foot in it.

He kissed her.

When she pushed him away, she looked horrified.

_Fuck._

* * *

The second time Tifa kissed him, it was different.

Nine days passed before she saw Reno again. It barely stopped raining, the days bleeding from one dull grey stretch to the next. January had settled over Edge with a vengeance.

It was after eleven when he finally sauntered through the door. He headed straight for the bar, leaning on his elbow while he waited for her to serve him. She kept him waiting on purpose.

She was having a terrible day. Reno's tit-for-tat banter was the last thing she needed, especially when she could still feel his mouth on hers when she closed her eyes.

It was a can of worms she shouldn’t want to open. A tiny part of her had already wondered about it whenever he turned up in his irreverently dishevelled suit or sat there with his cocky smirk plastered across his face. _Wondering_ wasn’t against any rules.

He was a minor distraction, that was all. One that she wasn’t in the mood for today.

“What do you want?” she asked finally, crossing the narrow space behind the bar to stand in front of him.

“Well, hello to you too,” he replied. “I want a lot of things… a million gil… a smoking hot bir—”

“What do you want to _drink_ , Reno?”

“A beer.”

She tossed a beer mat down before reaching into the fridge behind her. Froth spilt over the top of the bottle and pooled on the flimsy cardboard when she slammed it in front of him.

He was staring at her now, eyes narrowed. “You know, I've always said the service in here’s first class.”

“I’ll put it on your tab.” She could feel his eyes boring into her when she walked away.

Maybe she was being a little unfair. Her mood had nothing to do with Reno, but he was an easy target when she couldn’t take it out on anybody else. She didn’t have to tiptoe around him, pretending everything was fine. He didn’t _care._

It started with the bulb in the bathroom. The stupid thing blew when she flicked it on, making her jump out of her skin before she even started making her morning cup of tea. When she went to the kitchen to find a spare, she came up blank. After that, it was just one tiny, niggling thing after another, chipping away at her patience.

The oven wouldn’t switch on. Cid was happy to tinker with it for free but was a couple of days out of Edge. She couldn’t afford the extortionate repair bill, so she had to come up with a menu that didn’t require cooking. Sandwiches and salads… not exactly hearty fare, but they’d do in a pinch, except that when she came to drive to the store, she found a flat tire waiting for her.

She changed it, battling wintery conditions, and got grease all over her sweater. The store was busy, and she forgot to pick up a new bulb. By the time the kids started squabbling, she’d almost reached the end of her tether.

A disagreement with Barret was the icing on an already ruined cake. She’d left him upstairs, cooling off. She had a bar to run.

She was shaking a cocktail when she heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. For once, he had nothing to say about Reno’s presence at the end of the bar.

“We gonna finish talkin’ about this?” Barret’s holdall was slung over his shoulder, blocking Reno from view.

Tifa shook her head, pouring the ruby drink into a tall glass. She tried to keep her voice light. “There’s nothing to finish talking about.”

“Like hell there isn’t.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’ll think about what you said.”

“Tifa...”

“I’ll think about it,” she repeated a little more forcefully.

“He ain’t comin’ back.”

When she placed the drink in front of her customer, she was careful not to spill a drop. Her face felt hot. “I heard you the first time.”

Barret didn’t reply. She turned to see him watching her, his dark eyes filled with concern. It made her feel worse for being so brusque. He needed to understand, though. She didn’t _need_ pity.

She wasn’t sure what she needed. Space, maybe. _Time._

The silence continued. She could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tried to work out what to say to her. Swiping a rag from the sink, she started wiping down the counter, refusing to look at him.

Whatever he was thinking of saying, he chickened out. “Guess I’ll be goin’ then. Kids are asleep. Tell Marlene I’ll call her just as soon as I reach Rocket Town.”

Tifa nodded.

“I’m only tryin’ to help. You know that.”

“I know.”

He sighed. “You’re damned stubborn when you want to be.”

She scrubbed a little harder. “I wonder where I got that from.”

There was a moment of hesitation before he pulled her against him in a one-armed hug. He was warm. Solid. _Safe._ She squeezed him back awkwardly, wishing she could rewind the last couple of hours.

Everything he said rang true, though… Almost six months had passed with next to no contact. Cloud wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

“Anythin’ you need, you call me,” Barret said, letting her go. “Anythin’ at all.”

“I will… but honestly, I’m fine.”

“An’ I’m a goddamn Chocobo.”

She almost smiled at that. “Travel safe.”

When he rounded the bar, he barged into Reno with his bag. “The hell do you think you’re lookin’ at, Turk?”

Reno scowled back. “Keep walking, Hot-Stuff.”

She didn’t miss him flip the bird as Barret closed the door behind him.

The rest of the evening passed without incident. She poured drinks, smiled and laughed at her punters’ jokes and watched the tips trickle in. All the while, Reno sat at the end of the bar, nursing his beer and watching her.

She tried to ignore him. Unusually, he didn’t engage her in conversation, just picked at the label on his bottle and kept his comments to himself. Maybe he’d picked up on the cold-shoulder she was giving him and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.

Feeling guilty, she dropped a packet of peanuts on the bar in front of him. She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge them. The only other conversation came when she rang the bell for last orders.

He drained the last of his bottle and held it out to her. “Two more.”

She forced a smile. “We’re closing soon.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t have long to drink them.”

“I’ll manage.” He reached for his wallet, producing a couple of crumpled notes. “Keep the change.”

The money covered the tab and then some. She dropped it into the till and grabbed his drinks, popping the caps and swapping them for his empty bottle.

“You’re welcome,” he called when she walked away.

The last customers dwindled down until he was the only one left. He still hadn’t moved from the end of the bar, his two beers untouched in front of him, scrolling through his PHS like he had all the time in the world.

She headed across the room and started rounding up empty glasses. She dropped them on the bar a touch too hard and they clattered loudly.

“You’re going to break something,” he said, still scrolling.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” she replied, ignoring him.

He muttered something she didn’t catch with her back already turned. The table in the corner was a total mess, rings of sticky liquor and shredded beer mats scattered across it. She stared at the collection of half-empty glasses and torn paper, and her shoulders sagged. Her feet were aching. All she wanted was to crawl into bed.

“Make it thirty,” Reno said, his breath warm in her ear.

She spun, fists clenched. He hadn’t made a sound crossing the bar.

_“Reno!”_

He grinned, leaning towards her with his hands jammed in his pockets. Her eyes snagged on the lean muscle on display beneath his gaping collar.

When he noticed her looking, his grin turned wicked. “Seen anything you like?”

“Get away from me.” She turned back to the table, reaching for an empty glass. 

He caught her wrist. His fingers were warm. “C’mere.”

“What?”

He let go of her, holding his hands up. “Relax… Come sit down.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” He pulled a chair out from another, much cleaner table and pointed at it. When she didn’t move, he grasped her shoulders and guided her into the seat. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Reno… I don’t have time for this.”

He sauntered across the bar, returning with the two beers he purchased earlier. He pressed one into her hand and lightly clinked the other against it. “Cheers.”

She stared at the bottle. Condensation beaded the glass. “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like I’m doing? Buying you a drink.”

_“Why?”_

“Why not?”

Where did she even start?

Was this because he kissed her? She wondered if he even remembered. The brief crush of his mouth against hers had stunk of tequila and poor decisions. He was a mess. She’d shoved him out of the bar and into the back of the waiting taxi without a single word. It was only afterwards, when she closed the door and slid the bolts home, that she realised her hands were shaking.

Five years earlier, standing in the smouldering remains of the slums she’d made her home, she would’ve ripped him apart with her bare hands. 

Five years was a long time. Things changed. Nobody knew that better than she did. 

“Because you look like you need a drink,” he continued when she didn’t reply. “This isn’t like you.”

He took the seat next to hers, mischief in his blue eyes. 

“And you know me so well?”

“I know you’re not usually a cranky bitch,” he replied.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Nah.” 

She almost smiled. He took a long pull of his drink, smirking around the neck of the bottle.

“Got any more peanuts?” he asked. “I’m fucking starving.”

* * *

An hour later, Tifa had her second bottle of beer in her hand.

He’d chipped away at her resolve, piece by piece, until she told him about the catalogue of problems that ruined her day. He listened intently, nodding along, and then told her she needed to man up, grinning the entire time.

She threw her beer mat at him. He knocked it aside with the back of his hand and suggested another drink.

He was in his shirtsleeves now, lanky legs kicked out in front of him, looking altogether too comfortable. His scarlet hair stuck up at angles where he’d run his fingers through it as they chatted. He never stopped fidgeting, she quickly realised. His hands were never still. 

Around them, the empty glasses and dirty tables lay forgotten. She’d have to deal with them in the morning.

“So, what about your friend?” he asked, studying the contents of his bottle.

“What about him?”

“Don’t play dumb… I heard you arguing.”

“It wasn’t an argument.”

“Alright… I heard you talking.”

“Barret thinks…” She scratched at the label on her beer. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this...”

“I’m paid to make people talk. It’s a skill.”

“By buying them drinks?”

He patted his pockets theatrically. “Well shit, looks like I left my pliers in my other jacket.”

She stared at him. Nothing about his feral grin suggested he was joking.

“Relax, I’m kidding… _Kinda…_ What does Barret think?”

She decided not to pursue her line of enquiry. Some things were better left unknown. 

“He thinks I need to move on,” she replied. “Stop holding on to the past.”

“Are you?”

“Not really.”

Was she? Cloud’s room was exactly the way he left it, his bed neatly turned down with military precision. She cleaned in there, keeping the desk free of dust and letting the air in, but she hadn’t moved a thing. Breaking up didn’t come as a surprise to either of them; things fell apart naturally and holding a grudge seemed pointless. The strains of everyday life got a little too difficult to bear, and the adrenaline rush that once felt like a constant companion finally wore off.

It still hurt, though. The loneliness, the uncertainty… Moving on wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Reno scratched the back of his neck. “This got something to do with Soldier Boy?”

She nodded.

“He’s gone or…”

“Yeah.” She swallowed down a mouthful of beer, staring into the neck of the bottle. “There’s an entire room just… sitting there. But I can’t bring myself to clear it out.”

“Sounds about right.”

“It does?”

“Years ago, there were loads of us. And our old Director, he was hard as nails...” He hesitated, lost in thought. “He wore these glasses when he was going over our mission reports… used to rip us to fucking pieces. Those glasses, they were always at the end of his desk. When Tseng got promoted, they stayed there. They’re still there now… new HQ, new desk, same pair of fucking glasses.”

He tipped the bottle in his hand. This was a side of the Turk she wasn’t used to seeing. Contemplative… _Quiet._

“You miss him?”

“He was a fucking dick… but he was _our_ dick.” He laughed. When he looked up, there was a glint in his eye. “What I’m saying is… people hold on to stupid shit for stupid reasons. That’s just what they do.”

“So you’re saying I’m stupid?”

“No. Who d’you think looked for them in the ruins?” He smiled ruefully, tapping his chest. “ _People_ are stupid.”

She nodded slowly. Guilt ate away at her. “Earlier on… I wasn’t…”

“Your usual charming self?” He laughed. “Don’t sweat it.”

“I just… thanks, I guess.”

She meant it, too. Somewhere along the line, the tension left her shoulders. It was nice to talk to somebody that didn’t automatically want to give her the answers. She’d find them herself, eventually.

“For?”

“Listening…" she said. "Not judging me.”

“I’ve got no right to judge anybody.”

She tilted her head, watching him. “Maybe not… But I appreciate it.”

“You want my advice? Do what makes you happy. Life’s too fucking short.”

“Is that what you do?”

“It’s a work in progress.” His smile faltered. She noticed it before his easygoing expression slipped back into place. “Well, Lockhart, If you’d told me five years ago I’d be sitting here drinking with you, I’d have laughed in your face.”

“Yeah…” She laughed, pointing the neck of her bottle at him. “To fresh starts?”

Reno tapped his drink against it, tilting his head in agreement.

He drained the dregs of his beer. Tifa stared at his neck, the movement of his throat as he swallowed, and _wondered…_

“What?”

“Nothing.” She could feel the heat creeping across her skin. She reached for his empty bottle. “It’s getting late… I still need to clean up.”

“Is that you politely telling me to fuck off?” He stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Guess I’ll catch you later—”

The bottle was cold in her hand. She stared at it, watching the last of the beer crawl around the bottom as she turned it in her fingers. She put it back down on the table with a resounding _clink._

“—unless you want a hand cleaning up?”

Tifa stood up. Took a step towards him. Stood on her tiptoes and grasped the collar of his shirt.

He frowned. “Hold on—”

She kissed him.

It was nothing like the first time. Light and sweet. She dropped back onto her heels, uncertainty settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Sorry,” she stammered. “I just…”

He lunged for her, one hand winding around the small of her back while the other curled into her hair. His mouth crashed into hers, hot and wet and _urgent_. When she opened hers to him, her whimper died in her throat. They stumbled backwards and the back of her legs collided with the table.

The empty bottles rattled and rolled. The tinkle of breaking glass broke the spell.

They sprang apart like guilty teenagers. Reno ran his hand through his hair.

“Shit…” he said, taking a step backwards, and another. “That’s not…”

“I know.”

“We can’t…”

“I _know.”_

He closed the distance and kissed her again. His fingers were rough and warm along her jaw. She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him, torn at just how familiar his hard lines felt.

He nipped her bottom lip and a shiver tripped along her spine. Maybe not _that_ familiar.

When they broke apart, they were both panting. Her heart felt like it was trying to break through her ribs.

“Fuck's sake,” he groaned.

She skimmed her palms across his chest, straightening out his collar. Her face was burning.

Somehow, moving on had gotten a lot more complicated...


	2. February

The first time Reno fucked her, it should’ve been the only time.

He avoided Seventh Heaven until the grey January rain turned into a grey February one. It wasn’t easy; there weren’t that many bars in Edge. He’d forced himself out of his natural habitat.

He missed the place. Maybe not _just_ the place, but he was trying to be a model Turk (for once) and stick to his guns. The others could watch the bar while he avoided the barmaid. 

Usually, sex was a simple transaction. He’d apply his talents whenever he got the itch. This time, things were more complicated. Thoughts of Tifa’s mouth spiralled quickly into other, far less innocent ones, and then the what-ifs bothered him. This was an itch he wasn't allowed to scratch.

He blamed Johnny. They stood outside the rundown bar (fine, there wasn’t much inside to be outside of) and stared at the sign tacked onto the shutter.

 _“Closed?”_ Reno repeated. “The fuck?”

Rude shrugged and turned on his heel.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Rude replied. Raindrops clung to his sunglasses. “Not wasting any more time walking just because you’re an idiot.”

Reno knew why Rude was annoyed. They would have hit Seventh Heaven like they always did if he hadn’t messed with the status quo.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and jogged to keep up. “Hey man, come on. That’s not fair.”

Rude stared at him.

“Okay…” Reno conceded. “It’s a tiny bit fair.”

When he told Rude about his dilemma, he’d hoped for guidance. Instead, he got an earful. Rude couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the idea, his own ardour dampened by having his ass handed to him by Tifa a few too many times. Her friends would break Reno’s neck if Tseng didn’t get to him first.

Reno whistled through his teeth. “We could go—”

“No.”

He sighed. “You didn’t even—”

“Didn’t have to.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Wall Market’s out. You’re getting more boring as you get older, you know that?”

He wasn’t that annoyed. Sector Six was probably the only place in Midgar that _improved_ when Meteor fell. Even Reno struggled to associate its sticky floors and stained decor with a good time. They were better off staying in Edge. 

There _was_ one other option.

“You know… we could walk to Seventh Heaven from here…” He trailed off, waiting to see if Rude would take the bait.

Rude frowned behind his shades.

“What?” asked Reno, feigning innocence.

“No.”

“But—”

“It’s for your own good.”

He nudged Rude with his elbow. “It’s closer than your apartment though, and the weather’s shit.”

Rude stared at him, rain dripping off the end of his nose. He didn’t look impressed.

“Fine, home it is.” Reno smiled weakly. “Taxi’s on me, huh?”

* * *

_Home._

Funnily enough, that was the last place Rude told him to go as he slammed the taxi door.

Reno didn’t listen.

Instead, he stood in the doorway of the building opposite Seventh Heaven and weighed up his options. The rain had really picked up now, swirling through the gutters. He could see his breath in the chilly air.

Warm light spilt from the windows, beckoning him in. He could taste the beer. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to drop in and get a feel for the situation. For all he knew, she was already over it. It was only a kiss.

The neon lights flickered.

Maybe not _only_ a kiss. She’d been stuck in his head for weeks. He pictured Rude’s disproving face and sighed. As if he’d risk opening _that_ can of worms... People just didn’t have any faith in him. He was cold and wet, and he wanted a drink.

_Fuck it._

When he pushed through the door and took his usual seat at the bar, Tifa knocked over the beer she was pouring. Flustered, she scrabbled for a cloth and mopped up the spill.

She wasn’t over it, then. Interest piqued, he waited for her to come over before saluting lazily in greeting.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” she said.

“Johnny’s place is closed.”

She was already reaching into the fridge behind her. “Beer?”

He accepted the bottle without complaint, studying the label. When he caught her eye, she fidgeted with her skirt.

“Thanks…”

She wet her lips, and the lid on the metaphorical can rattled a little. Maybe a _tiny_ peek underneath it wouldn’t hurt.

“Been thinking about this all week,” he said, grinning slowly as he raised the bottle to his mouth. He paused, just long enough for his words to sink in. “Johnny's beer’s shit.” 

“Oh?” Colour crept through her face. She twisted the cloth in her hands. 

“Yeah. Yours is way better. How’s things?”

“Fine...”

He waited.

“Marlene’s sick,” she added. “And you know… the weather...”

He vaguely remembered the little girl. Kids weren’t exactly his forte. “She gonna be okay?”

Tifa nodded. A man at the end of the bar was trying to get her attention. 

“The other night was fun,” he said, eyes on her mouth.

Her cheeks were scarlet. The customer was getting antsy now.

“You should probably deal with that,” Reno said, grinning into his beer.

She bolted. Talk about a deer in fucking headlights.

He slipped his PHS from his pocket and laid it on the bar, resting his chin on his hand. To the casual observer, he was scrolling idly, lost in thought. This new position let him watch her work.

This was fine. He’d drink his beer and hightail it out of there. Sure, he was toeing a line, but that was nothing new. There was something sweet about her nerves and besides, making her squirm was fun.

He leaned a little further.

She was wearing that teeny-tiny skirt again. He could see the tops of her thigh-highs and the sliver of skin they exposed. She leaned over the bar to better hear her customer and laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears. There was that itch again, demanding his attention.

He could ignore it. No problem.

She turned to drop money in the till and noticed him staring. As the pretty pink flush crept down her neck, she bit down on her bottom lip.

Reno swallowed down another mouthful of beer.

Absolutely no problem at all...

* * *

The first time _it_ happened, she told herself it couldn’t happen again.

He was still sitting at the end of the bar with three empty bottles in front of him when her last customer left. His fourth, almost full, was in his hand.

Tifa tried to tell herself that she just hadn’t gotten around to clearing his empties, but that was a lie. She was avoiding his end of the bar on purpose.

Her palms were clammy. This was ridiculous.

“Fifteen minutes?” he called, as she left the safety of the bar to clear the dirty tables.

She ignored him.

When she looked over her shoulder, he was watching her, leaning on his elbow on the bar. She tried not to focus on the slim-cut suit or the contours of his chest, or the wicked smirk painted on his face. Instead, she turned back to collecting glasses. The air suddenly felt very warm.

“We gonna talk about this?”

“About what?” She balanced a stack of glasses in the crook of her elbow.

He rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. She tried to keep her tone breezy, but her mouth was filled with cotton wool. “Go home.”

“Come and have a drink with me,” he said, kicking out the stool beside him.

“No, thank you.”

“So you’re going to leave me here, all by myself?”

“You’ve done fine by yourself so far.” She grabbed another glass, adding it to the collection. “I’ve got to clean up.”

“Alright…” He turned back to his PHS, flicking his finger across the screen. “I’m finishing my beer though.”

“Fine.”

She carried on collecting, working her way around the dirty tables. Two trips later, they were clear. She placed the last glasses down carefully on the far end of the bar, leaving as much space between her and Reno as possible.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“No, Reno. I don’t know what you think.”

“I think you want me,” he drawled. “You’re just too scared to admit it.”

Nerves fluttered in her stomach. “I think I _want_ you to go home.”

He swallowed another mouthful of beer. “So you haven’t even thought about it?”

“No,” she lied.

“I have.”

She knocked a glass over and only just caught it before it rolled off the end of the bar. He laughed. She slammed it down next to the others.

“I don’t remember you being this clumsy,” he joked. 

Everything about his cocky smile suggested he was doing this on purpose. 

“The other night was a mistake.” She bit back the uncertainty in her voice and wiped her palms on her skirt, willing her hands to stop trembling. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

There it was, out in the open. Elfadunk in the room addressed. His expression turned rueful, eyes finally shifting to the bottle in his hand. 

“Alright…” For a moment, she thought that was the end, and then his mouth quirked. “Why did you?”

She stared at him.

Because she was lonely. Because somehow, somewhere down the line, her body betrayed her, and she _wanted_ to.

“I-I don’t know,” she stammered.

“I think you kissed me because you _want_ me, Lockhart.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She reached for the cloth to wipe down the tables. Her face was burning.

“It’s not ridiculous. I’m a fucking catch.” 

He gathered up his empty bottles. They clinked together in his hand. When he sauntered towards her, her fingers curled a little tighter into the rag. She knew this feeling, the fight or flight taking hold.

She _missed_ this feeling.

“Relax…” He lined them up against the others. “You and me ain’t happening, babe. I like to take a risk, but I’m not suicidal.”

She dropped the cloth on the bar, forcing her fingers to relax. She should’ve felt relieved. Instead, disappointment coiled through her.

Oblivious, he smirked. “You should see your face though.”

“ _Go home_ , Reno.”

Frustration simmered through her. She shoved past him, heading for the cellar.

Maybe he’d read the shift in the air. “Hey, don’t be like—”

“Like what?” She turned to face him. The surprise in his blue eyes did nothing to temper her anger. “You can’t just come in here and… and… _mess_ with people.”

“Mess with people?” he echoed flatly. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means.”

“Come on—”

“I’m done. Whatever this game is you’re playing, I want out.” 

“Tifa...”

Judging by his chagrinned expression, she’d hit the nail on the head. She stalked through the cellar door, letting it slam shut behind her.

Months of him turning up, months of loaded comments, _months_ of allowing him to get under her skin. It was too much to process. She couldn’t believe she’d been so _stupid._

It was darker down here. The single naked bulb highlighted the dusty crates and bottles on the shelves. The cool air was a welcome respite from the heat upstairs.

She was halfway down when the door clattered open.

“Hey!” he called.

His footsteps echoed on the steps behind her. She carried on to the bottom, ignoring him.

“For fuck’s sake... _Tifa!_ ” He grabbed her arm.

She wheeled around and he barreled straight into her, shoving her into the unit behind them.

"What are—"

He kissed her.

Too stunned to be angry, she kissed him back. His palms were rough against her jaw.

Bottles rattled at her back. _What the hell was she doing?_

Tifa braced her hands against his chest, forcing space between them. His eyes were dark, his breathing unsteady.

“We’re not doing this,” she said. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm.

“No,” he agreed.

He relaxed his fingers, letting his hands fall along her bare arms. He was still close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. All she’d have to do was tilt her head, and she’d have his mouth again.

“We're not,” she repeated, more for her own benefit. Her pulse echoed his, hammering in her ears.

When he spoke, his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth and sent a shiver down her spine. “ _Why_ aren’t we?”

“Reno...”

“You’re right…” He stepped backwards and cool air filled the space between them.

“It would be a mistake,” she said.

“I’ll go."

He didn’t move.

The wood behind her was dusty. She felt out the grain beneath her fingertips, grounding herself in the sensation. She needed to keep her head clear.

When she breathed in, she could smell his cologne, rich and warm.

She _needed_ to tell him to leave.

“You could stay...” Her lips formed the words before she’d fully registered them. 

His mouth curled into a grin, his eyes gleaming in the low light.

“We both know there’s only one thing that’s going to happen if I stay,” he said.

“Oh?” she whispered.

“I fuck you now, and we get whatever _this_ is over with.” His voice wasn’t so steady. “Cards on the table, babe. What’ll it be?”

She hesitated.

She _couldn't..._

“I want you to stay…”

He was on her in an instant. She barely had time to breathe before he was pushing his tongue past her teeth. She met his mouth just as fiercely, winding her fingers through his hair.

More bottles clattered. The edge of a crate was digging into her back and she instinctively curved away from it. The change in position left her pressed against something _else_. Heat pooled through her core.

Reno rolled his hips. The friction made her knees weak. When he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her collarbone, she whimpered.

“How long’s it been?” he asked, hands travelling around her waist and over her skirt. He rubbed his palm along the back of her thigh and squeezed.

She shook her head. Her knuckles were white on the edge of the shelf.

“That long, huh?” He chuckled in her ear and hitched her skirt up, digging his fingers into her hips. “Turn around.”

She did, chest pressed uncomfortably against the shelves. There was barely space to move and he didn't give an inch.

He kissed the curve of her neck. “Hands up.”

She froze, unsure. His breath ghosted her ear.

“ _Hands_ —” he caught her fingers, lifting them to the shelf above her, “— _up_.”

“Reno...” 

Her nails cut crescents into the wood as he ran his palms along her rib cage and under her shirt. She could feel the splinters under her fingertips. 

“So this is a one-time thing?” He rolled her nipples between his fingers. Sensation coursed through her.

“Yes,” she moaned, arching into him.

He might’ve had her toeing the line in the sand, but she refused to wander too far from it. She already knew how reckless this was.

“Hmm…” He grabbed her waist again, dragging her hips back and pushed her legs apart with his knee. His mouth grazed her ear. “I better make sure you enjoy yourself, then.”

By the time she came apart around him, body trembling and eyes glazed, the line in the sand was well and truly lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Toherrys for [ this](https://twitter.com/toherrys_18plus/status/1359000868645986307) super spicy fanart <3


	3. March

The first time they had dinner together, Reno was four and a half hours late.

Things started to go wrong just after midday. 

He and Rude were hunkered down behind a set of metal bins in Sector Six, trapped in an alley that was absolutely filthy. He’d dodged used condoms and broken glass as they ran for cover, and the narrow gap between buildings stank of piss.

Sometimes, he _really_ hated Wall Market. Bullets pinged off the metal above them.

“This blows. You still keeping count?”

“Thirteen,” Rude replied.

“Huh… I thought it was fourteen.”

Another bullet hit the bin.

“Fourteen,” said Rude.

The plan was pretty simple. Wait for the bastards to stop shooting, then move in and clean up. 

“So…” Reno balanced on his heels. “How’s things?”

Rude stared at him.

“What?” asked Reno.

“Spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

 _“How’s things?”_ Rude echoed.

“You know, partner... you can be a first-class asshole when you want to be.”

Rude laughed. Another bullet hit the bin, and they both ducked.

“We can keep this up all fucking day!” Reno shouted in the general direction the shots were coming from. He turned back to Rude. “I think Corneo’s forgotten who he’s dealing with here.”

“We’ll make sure he remembers.”

“Yeah, we will… Hey, you ever try out that new Wutain place?”

“Yeah.”

He waited. Rude was something of a restaurant connoisseur. Unfortunately, he didn’t elaborate.

“You know, when I asked that question, I was banking on… I don’t know… _details,_ ” said Reno.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I thought I’d check it out.”

“Right...” Rude was looking at him funny.

Reno _knew_ that look.

“Fuck off,” he said, pre-empting the lecture.

“It’s cheap.” Rude flicked a piece of lint off his suit. “She won’t like it.”

“Who won’t like it?”

Rude stared at him.

“Asshole,” said Reno.

“So you’re dating now?”

“No,” he scoffed. “I’m buying her dinner… That’s not dating. That’s dinner.”

“That’s a date, and you know it is,” Rude replied flatly.

“It’s _just_ dinner.”

That was how he’d floated the idea to her anyway, while he was putting his trousers back on. She looked startled before she said yes. He told her to wear something pretty, and that was that.

To Reno, dating was something you did when you wanted to fuck somebody. He was already doing that pretty regularly, so it seemed unnecessary. He just felt like taking her out, that was all.

No big deal...

He watched a scrap of glittery foil swirl through the gutter.

“Is it a date?” he asked eventually, still staring at the concrete.

Rude raised his eyebrows.

“I mean… so what if it is? Just because I’m taking her on a date doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

“Not like you’re at the bar every night,” said Rude.

Reno stared back in stony silence. It wasn’t _every_ night...

“How about we sack off waiting for them to run out of ammo?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “You can play bait.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Rude, ignoring him.

Of course he fucking didn’t. “It’s all under control.”

Another bullet struck the wall behind them. Shards of brick rained down.

“I’m really going to enjoy the _chat_ we’re going to have with these fuckers,” said Reno, brushing mortar out of his hair. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

“There’s a place on the corner of Fourth,” said Rude. “Small. Cosy. She’ll like it.”

Reno stared at him, surprised. For the last four weeks, most of Rude’s advice involving Tifa had comprised of him warning Reno not to risk it.

“For the date,” Rude clarified. His mouth twitched. “With the woman you _aren't_ dating.”

Reno rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I like your attitude.”

“Tell the owner I sent you. They’ll sort you out.”

“Fine…”

This time the silence that filled the air between them was far more companionable. Reno watched him out of the corner of his eye. Rude’s acceptance of the situation felt like a weight lifted, even if Reno wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck was actually going on.

“Thanks, partner,” he said eventually. 

Rude shrugged.

“Hey…” Reno turned, listening. “You hear that?”

There was a distinct lack of gunfire.

“Sounds like their ammo ran out.”

Reno straightened up, swinging his mag-rod from his wrist. “Showtime…”

* * *

The first time Reno asked her on a date, he stood her up.

At least, Tifa thought it was a date. He’d muttered something about getting dinner the following evening as he was getting dressed, refusing to meet her eye.

She didn’t have that much experience dating, but she was pretty sure an invitation to dinner was a date. After she agreed, he told her to wear something pretty.

After _that_ , he helped her find her underwear.

Eight p.m. came and went. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. At nine, she called his PHS. The call wouldn’t connect. At ten-thirty, she accepted that he wasn’t coming, and took over from Yuffie behind the bar.

Yuffie knew Tifa had a date, she just didn’t know it was with Reno. She’d happily agreed to come and look after things for the evening and spent most of the afternoon trying to wheedle a confession out of her. Tifa stood her ground.

How was she supposed to explain when she didn’t even understand it herself?

Their _‘one-time’_ tryst in the cellar might’ve played on her mind if given the chance, but it happened again less than twenty-four hours later. After that, it kept on happening. As the weeks ticked by, it became a routine. Now, they were midway through March and a date felt like a natural progression for whatever was going on between them.

Maybe it wasn’t. She didn’t really know. Maybe dinner was _just_ dinner, and she’d gotten it wrong.

Noting Tifa’s disappointed expression, Yuffie tried to tempt her to sit and talk it over. She politely declined, although the extra pair of hands cleaning up was welcome. Yuffie scrubbed and dried glasses while Tifa wiped down the tables, providing a running commentary of creative ways she could exact revenge from her position at the sink. Tifa only had to say the word.

She’d declined that too, although the thought of Reno waking up in the middle of the night to a Tonberry sitting on his chest did at least elicit a laugh.

Now she was standing in her tiny bathroom in her pyjamas, scrubbing make-up off her eyes. She’d screwed up her dress and tossed it straight in the bottom of the laundry hamper. It took her hours to settle on an outfit and fix her hair, nerves making the entire process even more difficult. Removing it all was a depressingly quick ordeal.

Her PHS was balanced on the vanity. She threw the wipe in the bin and reached for it. There were no new notifications on the screen.

Annoyed, she tapped out a message. _‘I thought we said eight??’_

She stared at it for a second and changed her mind, deleting it from the screen.

_‘Goodnight.’_

Because _that_ wasn’t a loaded statement. She deleted that too.

This was stupid. _She_ was stupid. She didn’t really want to pick a fight. Actually, she just wanted to hear from him, and if she was totally honest, she didn’t really know how she felt about that.

She stared at the screen again, fingers tapping across the keys and hitting send before she could talk herself out of it. Satisfied, she dropped her PHS back on the counter.

There. _Done._

She turned back to the mirror and started pulling the pins out of her hair.

* * *

The bar was already closed when he arrived. That didn’t surprise him. It was after midnight. 

She’d told him not to come to the front. The bratty ninja was looking after things, and Tifa decided (fairly sensibly) not to come clean about her evening activities. He didn’t blame her. The Turks weren’t exactly popular in this neck of the woods.

He hovered in the shadows and wondered what to do. There was a light on in an upstairs window, but he had no idea if it was hers or not. There was a balconette attached and a drain-pipe nearby that would be easy enough to climb, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

He figured she was going to be angry, regardless. He might as well get it over with. He easily scaled the side of the building and peered through the window.

The bedroom was empty. He settled on the edge of the railing and weighed up his options. The wind was picking up now, whistling down the deserted street. He was tired, hungry, and his body _hurt_. Really, he should go home.

He didn’t _want_ to.

Movement through the gauzy curtain distracted him.

_Tifa..._

He lifted his hand to knock on the window and hesitated.

She was brushing out her hair, dressed for bed in a pair of tiny white shorts and a vest. His eyes travelled along her bare legs. Things were really looking up, until she turned around, lost in thought, and noticed him watching her.

Her eyes narrowed. For a moment she just stood there, staring at him. He wondered whether she was going to leave him hanging.

Tifa hurried over to the window and threw it open. “Reno, it’s late. Why are you here?”

“To see you.”

Her expression changed, her eyes widening as they landed on his torso. “You’re hurt…”

He looked down. There was blood on his shirt, just visible beneath his jacket. He hadn’t checked, but he was pretty sure he had a black eye too.

She stepped back from the windowsill. “Be quiet. Yuffie’s asleep down the hall.”

It wasn’t exactly a warm reception, but at least she didn’t slam the window in his face. He ducked through. Pain lanced through his ribs and he winced.

She wanted to be angry. He could see it in her face. She rushed to his side though, reaching out to steady him. 

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” he lied.

The potions were really wearing off now. He should’ve told the nurses he was out and taken some with him when he left the infirmary. It seemed like a glaring oversight now that his injuries were making themselves felt.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” she said, still hovering at his elbow.

“It’s just a bruise.”

“Bruises don’t bleed.”

There was a mirror in the corner, and he headed for it. Tifa followed. When he saw his reflection, he laughed.

“Sssh!” she hissed.

“Sorry…” He prodded gingerly at his cheekbone.

“What’s so funny?”

“I haven’t seen myself since six a.m.” He tilted his head, tallying up the injuries. “I look like shit.”

The bruise beneath his eye was so dark it was almost navy, the edges already fading to a greeny-yellow that made his skin look dirty. The graze on his cheekbone really set it off, and there was a set of scratches down his neck. He vaguely remembered somebody coming at him with a fistful of nails like talons, but the rest of the details were hazy.

There was a tear in the side of his jacket. He unbuckled it and tugged his shirt up. There was way more blood staining the cotton than he thought there would be.

“Fuck’s sake…”

“Reno?”

“It’s just a scratch,” he assured her.

As always, the morbid desire to see the damage won out. He peeled the dressing away. They’d done a pretty good job with the stitches, he had to admit. With any luck, there might not be a scar. Tifa swatted his hand away and tried to stick the tape around the edges back down.

Her eyes were big and soft and brimming with concern. He let his shirt fall back into place and caught her hand.

“Just a scratch,” he repeated. “We had some trouble in Sector Six. Guy with a knife thought today was his lucky day… It really wasn’t.”

She pulled her hand away, fiddling with the hem of her shorts. “What’s going on in Sector Six?”

“The usual.” He didn’t really want to get into the details. The Turks might’ve softened slightly over the years, but they still had a job to do. He forced a grin. “Too late for dinner, huh?”

“I tried to call you.”

“Battery’s dead. Guess you’ve been waiting around...”

She nodded, chewing her lip.

He scratched his neck sheepishly. “I came straight here from the infirmary if that makes you feel any better.”

“Did they give you anything for the pain?”

“Couple of potions…”

His stomach rumbled. He tensed to stop the gurgle and winced. _Bad idea._ Skipping lunch didn’t seem such big deal earlier on before the rogue switch-blade ruined his dinner plans. The ache in his ribs wasn’t going away now, throbbing with a vengeance.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

He tried to laugh it off. “Feel like playing nurse?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Fine… I’ll take a potion if you’ve got one.”

“Sit down.” She sighed. “I’ll grab the kit.”

The only place to sit was the bed. He perched on the edge.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, heading for the door. “Stay there.”

He saluted in response. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, his shoulders sagged.

Ordinarily, spending most of the evening in the infirmary would’ve been a minor irritation. He’d flirt with the nurses and dose up on potions until he passed out, the only genuine worry being the paperwork he’d have to deal with the following morning. He wasn’t used to having somebody waiting around for him.

He should’ve made sure he charged his PHS. He realised that now. It was a dumb mistake to make.

He looked around the room. There were pictures in frames dotted around… Tifa and the kids… Tifa and her friends… One photo was a group shot. She beamed up at him from the frame, her arm looped through Cloud’s. He was almost smiling. There were spaces, though. Reno noticed them because that was the shit they trained him to notice. Lighter patches on the wallpaper and empty tacks where frames used to be. Reno was a gambler by nature, and he was willing to bet that Cloud was in the missing photos too.

He shifted his weight a little, testing out the mattress. Creeping around had forced him to get pretty creative when it came to fucking her and Tifa’s bedroom had so far remained out of bounds. There was one very brief trip to his apartment, where he’d taken full advantage of having her in his bed before she had to run off and collect the kids from somewhere. Tonight, the ache in his ribs dampened his spirits. Talk about a wasted opportunity.

He ran his hand over the blanket, smoothing out the creases. The air smelt soft. Floral.

Tifa returned, balancing a tray and a slim green case in her hands.

She put them on the bed next to him. “Stand up.”

He stared at the contents of the tray. “You made me a sandwich…”

She busied herself with the case, a pretty flush creeping down her neck.

Reno couldn’t remember the last time anybody made him food without money exchanging hands. The room suddenly felt too warm.

He stood up, accepting the potion she offered him. "Thanks."

Getting sentimental over a fucking _sandwich_? He needed his head looking at.

Tifa pulled on a pair of gloves and picked out a fresh dressing from the first-aid kit. “Hold your shirt up.”

“You don’t have to—”

_“Reno.”_

“Fine,” he grumbled, lifting his shirt.

She carefully peeled the used dressing off. 

“They’ve done a good job,” she said, inspecting the stitches.

“It’s not that deep.”

“Another one to add to the collection?”

“Probably,” he agreed, as she stuck a clean dressing over the wound.

He assumed she was talking about scars. She’d noticed a few during his various states of undress, although he never really went into any details. There were usually more important things than conversation on his mind once he started relieving her of her clothes.

"Tell me if I hurt you," she said.

"You're good."

Her movements were light as she smoothed down the tape at the edges. He watched her in the mirror. When her fingers skimmed across his lower abs, he inhaled sharply.

"Sorry..."

"Didn't hurt," he gritted out. This time it wasn't pain that made him flinch.

She grinned, stooping to kiss the sensitive spot her fingertips found. "All done."

He could feel his blood rushing south. He stared at the curve of her ass in the mirror, exposed a little where the hem of her shorts rode up and wondered whether popping his stitches was worth the risk.

Maybe she noticed because she straightened up and pointed at the bed. “Sit down.”

He did, patting the spot next to him. “C’mere.”

She sat down beside him, her bare shoulder brushing against his arm.

"Don't get any ideas," she warned.

He grabbed half the sandwich. “You know you want me."

She picked up the other half and tore a piece off, putting the rest back on the plate. She grinned before she popped it in her mouth. “I'm still mad at you.”

He clutched his ribs, only half-faking his wounded expression. 

“Nice try," she said.

Sat there in her tiny shorts, eating _his_ sandwich and smiling, she might’ve been one of the most appealing sights he’d ever seen.

He nudged her with his shoulder. “If I wasn’t in so much pain right now, I’d make it up to you.”

She gave him a _look._ “I waited for four and a half hours, Reno.”

“I could’ve died…”

He meant it as a joke, but her face changed, her eyebrows drawn into a frown. He held out the rest of the sandwich. It was a pretty pathetic peace offering. She took it though, her eyes softening.

“I’m kidding,” he said, and he was… _mostly._ “Sorry I stood you up.”

“I’m not really mad.” She made herself more comfortable, crossing her legs underneath her. “It just would’ve been nice to know you weren't coming.”

“I’ll bear that in mind next time.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Not that I’m planning on standing you up again,” he added.

“Good.”

“So... you’re not _really_ mad, huh?” He shifted his weight and leaned towards her, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. The potion was taking effect now. He could feel the warmth spreading through him.

“Maybe…” There it was again, that pretty little smirk. “I haven’t decided.”

“I can help you decide.” He leaned a little closer, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear.

“Oh, really?”

He kissed her. This time it felt different. Sweeter. His hand fell to her hip, her skin warm beneath the flimsy material of her shorts.

“You free tomorrow night?” he asked, kissing the corner of her mouth.

“Depends…”

“On?”

She laughed, running her fingertips through his hair. “On whether you’re planning on turning up this time.”

* * *

Reno left when the line between _almost_ innocent making out and potentially damaging bedroom Olympics got a little too difficult to keep sight of. To say he was frustrated was an understatement, but there was something really fucking satisfying about her red lips and glazed eyes when he climbed back out through the window. He was grinning like an idiot the entire way home.

When he walked into his apartment, he tossed his keys on the counter and plugged his PHS in, grabbing a beer from the fridge on his way to the sofa. He sat down and the dull ache in his side reminded him why he had to walk away. Fucking Corneo and his fucking lackeys. He flicked the television on, not really paying attention to the picture. Suddenly, his sofa felt like a very lonely place to be.

Half an hour later, he had no idea what he was watching. Giving up, he unplugged his PHS and switched it back on, resuming his position lounging on the sofa. A notification popped up while he was scrolling.

The message was from Tifa, time-stamped a good fifteen minutes before he’d climbed in through her bedroom window. He almost didn’t open it, assuming she’d be chewing him out for standing her up.

Curiosity got the better of him.

_‘Missed you today. Hope you’re okay x’_

He stared at the words on the cracked screen and typed out a reply.

_‘Missed you too.’_

His finger hovered over the send key.

It wasn’t a lie, and that was the problem. He’d missed her while he was stuck in the infirmary, and he missed her now.

He pictured her gentle fingers against his stomach, her soft mouth and warm arms. Breathless laughter and _sandwiches_. He deleted the message and tossed his PHS on the cushion beside him.

This was going to be a _big_ fucking problem.


	4. April

The first time Reno went AWOL, Tifa went looking for him.

April came, bringing slightly warmer weather in its wake. They’d successfully managed dinner a few times as the weeks progressed and Tifa cautiously let Yuffie in on the secret, making her swear on pain of death that she wouldn’t tell anybody else.

To Yuffie’s credit, she took it in her stride after the initial shock wore off _(“wait… you’re_ dating _Reno?”)_ and Tifa felt better not having to lie through her teeth whenever she needed a babysitter. Yuffie thrived on the gossip and was a reasonably knowledgeable confidante, which turned out to be helpful. 

Tifa had questions… _lots_ of questions.

Yuffie wasn’t shy at all. Lucky, because neither was Reno. Tifa’s sex life had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting, and Yuffie wanted to know every sordid detail. In exchange, she helped Tifa navigate the more intimate problems she faced. Tifa could only stutter through the more salacious parts, cheeks scarlet, refusing point-blank to look Yuffie in the eye.

She noted the tips, though. Reno’s terminally cocky swagger only got worse every time he left her a quivering mess on the floor, and she was determined that she’d wipe that smirk off his face if it killed her.

Things were certainly progressing. That was why she went to find him when he stopped turning up at the bar without warning, and the steady stream of (mostly appropriate) text messages dried up. Nothing about their last evening together suggested cold feet. Worried that something bad had happened, she left Yuffie running the bar and headed for his apartment.

When she knocked on the door, it took him a long time to answer.

“Hi.”

“Don’t come near me,” he croaked. “I’m sick.”

“I can see that...”

He looked awful. A ghostly apparition slumped in the doorway, dressed in a faded Shinra hoody and sweatpants. He was shivering so hard she could hear his teeth chattering, and the tip of his nose was red. 

Any lingering frustration at his disappearing act faded. Tifa’s heart melted.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“I’m _sick.”_

“Please?” 

“Fine...”

She ducked around him and headed into the hall. Reno kicked the door shut behind her, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“We’re not having sex, so don’t even think about taking your clothes off,” he added.

“Wow… You really _are_ sick.” 

She followed him into the lounge. He didn’t bother turning the light on.

“I don’t appreciate that level of sarcasm,” he said, swiping a bottle off the coffee table as he passed.

She almost smiled. His words sounded all wrong, the hard sounds softened by a head full of cold. His watery eyes narrowed when he noticed, and she forced the smirk off her face.

“It’s not funny.” He slouched on the sofa and took a healthy swig from the bottle.

“I wasn’t laughing! You’re supposed to measure that stuff out you know.”

Reno glanced at the cough syrup in his hand. “Tried that. Didn’t work.”

Erring on the side of caution, she tugged it out of his unresisting fingers and set it back down on the table. The room was a disaster. Weak sunlight filtered around the edges of the closed blinds, illuminating papers and tissues scattered across the table. Along with the bottle of medicine, there was a selection of half-finished drinks and a plate of congealing food he’d barely touched.

She picked up a can. It was three-quarters full. She recognised the label as some kind of caffeine heavy energy drink. 

“These won’t help. You need Vitamin-C.”

“ _You_ need Vitamin-C,” he grumbled, throwing his hand over his eyes.

“How long have you felt like this?”

“Days.”

Tifa put the can down and gingerly perched on the edge of the sofa. He didn’t move. The lounge had a very lived-in smell, not helped by the abandoned meal on the table.

She wrinkled her nose. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Tuesday.”

“It _is_ Tuesday.”

He mulled it over while she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was burning up.

“Saturday?”

She frowned. “You’re so hot...”

“That’s what she said.” He tried to laugh. It turned into a wet cough that made his eyes water.

“Idiot.” She smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “What else have you taken?”

“No idea...”

“That’s useful.”

“Hmm…” He yawned, catching her hand and pressing his cracked lips to the inside of her wrist. “Tablets.”

There was a packet on the floor. Cold and flu meds. She stooped down to fish it out from under the coffee table. There were six empty spaces in the blistered packet and an overly cheerful cartoon moon on the front of the box.

“I'm sleepy,” he said, nuzzling her palm.

“That’s because you’re taking night-time tablets in the middle of the afternoon.”

“That—” he yawned again, wider this time, “—seems dumb.”

“How many have you taken?”

“Four?”

“Smart…” She stroked his hair. “Go to sleep. I’ll tidy up.”

He shook his head. His eyes were still closed. 

“Can’t sleep… got to work… and the secrets… for the thing...”

_“What?”_

“Chocobo,” he mumbled decisively.

When he started snoring, she could only watch him and smile, bemused.

* * *

After he passed out, she collected up the papers spread across the coffee table. They looked like mission reports, scrawled all over in barely legible print. Assuming that was the secrets he was rambling about, she didn’t look too hard at them. It appeared he’d tried to work from his deathbed and failed.

She recognised the Chocobo farm in one photograph. It’d come unclipped from somewhere. All the other photos were attached to something else, and she didn’t want to mess up his system. She put the papers in a neat pile and left the loose photo on top.

It didn’t take long to tidy the lounge. She binned the tissues (years with the kids left her far less squeamish), scraped away the food and poured the half-finished drinks down the sink. He didn’t cook the meal himself, judging by the takeaway boxes that were already in the bin. There were a couple of mugs and another plate on the side, so she washed them up too and dried them with a towel she found in a drawer.

When she opened the fridge, she expected it to be empty. Instead, she found it reasonably well-stocked. Packets of meat and fresh vegetables lined the shelves (painfully unorganised) and there was a carton of milk and a box of eggs in the door next to the beer. The selection surprised her. Somehow she couldn’t picture him being a man who cooked.

A sticky ring on the counter looked suspiciously like cough syrup. There were antibacterial wipes in the drawer where she found the towel so she grabbed them, wiping down the surfaces in the kitchen. She took them in the lounge and did the coffee table too for good measure.

Twenty minutes since Reno passed out, and he was still snoring softly. Perched on the arm of the sofa, she wondered what she should do next.

The apartment was oddly bare. This wasn’t the first time she’d been there, but last time she didn’t have the chance to take in the details. He’d already peeled half her clothes off before they made it into the lounge, and after that, he was too great a distraction for her to take in the decor. The walls and furniture were dark. Simple. There weren’t any pictures or decorations, just a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a handful of books on a shelf.

It all felt very temporary. She wondered how long he’d lived there.

He didn’t look comfortable on the sofa, one arm and leg hanging over the side, the back of his other hand still resting across his eyes. She watched him for a moment longer before she settled on a plan of action. Leaving him asleep, she headed for his bedroom.

This room at least felt more lived in. There was a photograph on the table next to the bed. Reno grinned up at her from the frame, flanked by Elena and Rude. His suit was in a crumpled pile on a chair in the corner and his sheets were tangled at the bottom of the mattress as though he’d had a restless night and thrown them off in his sleep.

She opened the window to let some fresh air in and straightened out his suit on the back of the chair. There weren’t that many places that clean bedding could be, but it didn’t feel right to root through his things.

Returning to the lounge, she crouched beside him. “Reno?”

He grunted.

“Where’s your clean sheets?”

He mumbled something that sounded like _‘bottom drawer’._

She decided to risk it. “Thanks...”

When she checked the chest of drawers under the window she found them, folded neatly at the bottom. She lifted the new bedding out of the drawer and froze.

There was a gun hidden beneath them. It was compact, nothing like the gilded pistols she’d seen Vincent use. Carefully, she slid the drawer closed. It made sense. She kept a pair of gloves on her nightstand, _just in case_. Why wouldn’t he keep a weapon close to hand? It was an unwelcome reminder of Reno’s _other_ side.

Her hands were shaking. She flexed her fingers until they fell still. She wouldn’t ask him about the gun. He wasn’t that man anymore. She was certain about that. Just like she knew the sky was up or the sun was hot.

It didn’t matter, anyway. This was just a fling. That’s what she’d told Yuffie when she questioned whether Tifa had feelings for him. She wasn’t falling for Reno. She was certain about that, too.

Shaking out the clean sheets, she stripped and re-made the bed. It was getting easier to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that pointed out the obvious flaw in her reasoning.

She _wasn’t_ falling for him... She’d already fallen.

* * *

The first time he was sick in a long, long time, she made him soup.

Reno woke on the sofa, totally disoriented. There was a blanket over him and somebody had opened the window, leaving the blinds closed. He could feel the breeze in the air.

The detritus from his shoddy attempts at self-care were suspiciously absent. Instead, there was a glass of juice and a box of tissues in front of him. The mission reports he’d sworn he’d get finished by the weekend were in a neat pile on the edge of the table.

He stared at the grainy photograph of the Chocobo farm that sat on the top of the stack. She’d turned up uninvited at his apartment and fucking _cleaned._

When he tried to stand up, the blood-rush made him dizzy. He sank back onto the sofa. It was freezing with the window open. He pulled the blanket a little tighter around himself and slumped against the cushions, defeated.

He fucking _hated_ getting sick.

He was dozing off again when he noticed Tifa standing in the doorway. There was a steaming bowl clutched in her hands.

“You’re awake,” she said brightly, placing it in front of him. “Are you hungry?”

He stared at the bowl. It was full of soup.

“I made soup,” she added, sounding a little less certain. She was turning the spoon over and over in her fingers. “I hope you don’t mind. There was stuff in the fridge and it helps when you’re sick…”

She held the spoon out.

He took it, poking sullenly at the vegetables in the broth. Steam spiralled off the surface, but he couldn’t smell a thing.

“How long was I out?”

“A couple of hours… You looked like you needed the sleep,” she replied.

He nodded slowly. The seconds ticked on.

“Did you clean my apartment?” he asked, eventually.

“I tidied up a bit...”

Part of him was annoyed. He ached all over, and that was doing nothing to improve his mood. There were a thousand reasons she shouldn’t be poking around in his stuff, and two hours unsupervised was more than enough time for her to stumble across something she shouldn't. The papers were classified. If Tseng found out she’d been rifling through them, he’d have Reno for breakfast.

When he looked up, fully intending to chew her out, he hesitated. Her dark eyes radiated concern.

“I didn’t read anything,” she said, as though reading his mind. “I just cleared the table and washed up your dishes.”

He dropped the spoon in the bowl and held his hand out.

“And wiped down a few surfaces,” she added.

She didn’t move, just hovered uncertainly on his peripheral. He patted the cushion beside him.

“And changed your sheets.” She finally sat down next to him, twisting her fingers in her lap. “And made soup…”

He threw the blanket around her shoulders and dragged her closer, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck.

“Thanks,” he said.

“It’s nothing…”

“It’s _not_ nothing.”

She tucked her feet beneath her and softened into him, one arm draped loosely across his waist. Her skin was warm against his cheek.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, fidgeting with the hem of his hoody. 

“Like shit.”

“You’re still really warm.”

He shivered and pulled her closer still. “ _You’re_ warm.”

“I think you’ve got a fever… Should I close the window?”

He shook his head.

“I thought the fresh air might help,” she said. “You need to keep your fluids up… try to drink something…”

She reached for the glass on the table and he tightened his grip, pinning her to his side. 

“Tifa.”

“What?”

“I’m not a kid.” He kissed her collarbone. “If you want to play nurse, the least you could do is wear an outfit.”

“I’ll try to remember that in future.”

“You better.” 

He pressed a slightly firmer kiss to her throat, and she sighed.

“Reno…” she warned, as he kissed her again.

"Hmm?"

"You're sick..."

He could hear the longing in her voice. He murmured his agreement, slowly kissing and nipping his way to her ear as her fingers inched below his hoody, trailing along the waistband of his sweatpants.

He _was_ sick, and he was cold, and his head felt like it was made of cotton wool, but she was soft and warm against him and he’d fucking _missed_ her. And maybe Tifa turning up and fussing over him wasn’t so bad… not _really_ … Not when her hand was trailing lower, her fingers growing brave.

“Reno?” She squeezed him through his sweatpants. “You know how you told me to keep my clothes on?”

Something in her tone made him pause. He slipped his hand beneath her shirt. “Yeah?”

“Because you’re sick…”

“Yeah...”

One last squeeze had him groaning in her ear. She released him, leaning forward to pick up the glass and pressing it into his hand.

“If you don’t drink your goddamn juice, you won’t get any better.”

He stared at her, mouth open. “That was _low.”_

“It’s for your own good.”

“ _Really_ low.”

She grinned, eyes sparkling. “I’m learning.”

“I’m having second thoughts.” He drained half the glass in one gulp. He couldn’t taste a thing. “I thought you were being nice to me.”

“I am being nice to you. Now, drink the rest.”

He did, scowling at her the entire time.

“There...” She removed it and handed him the bowl of soup. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I’ll remember this,” he promised darkly. “When I’m feeling better, you’re in big trouble.”

She settled in against his side and kissed his cheek.

* * *

She’d stayed there long after he finished the bowl of soup, curled up beside him, filling him in on all the inconsequential details he’d missed since he last saw her. He half-listened, enjoying her warmth and the feel of her fingers running through his hair.

It was comfortable. _Peaceful._ His head stopped aching and the tension in his limbs slowly drained away.

He blamed the soup.

Eventually, he couldn’t resist the lead weight behind his eyes. He must’ve fallen asleep on her shoulder because she’d gently woken him, insisting that he needed to go to bed. He couldn’t really argue. He almost asked her to stay and thought better of it. That was a line he shouldn’t cross. 

He didn’t kiss her when she left. He _really_ fucking wanted to.

When he shuffled into his bedroom, feeling more than a little sorry for himself, there was a glass of water and a box of cold and flu meds waiting on his bedside table. He grinned.

Maybe he understood a little better now, how people ended up falling for other people. He made himself comfortable, enjoying the feel of clean sheets against his skin.

Lucky for him, he wasn’t the falling type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Ushi for [this](https://twitter.com/Ushijoy1/status/1352176556978814977) beautiful piece of fanart <3


	5. May

The first time he slept there, he didn’t plan on it.

The kids were away for the week. Barret took them to Cloud’s villa in Costa Del Sol, a yearly tradition in the early May sunshine. That’s what Tifa called it, anyway. Personally, Reno thought it was kinda sus (if he had a sea-front villa, they’d have to prise the keys out of his cold, dead hands before he shared it with anybody). She didn’t mention Cloud again though, so he didn’t pry.

There were more important things on his mind. It took a lot to render him speechless; his quick tongue was a talent, in more ways than one. She managed it, though. Exhibit A: Tifa Lockhart on her knees in lingerie.

Maybe _that_ was how she got through his defences.

It started how it always did. He was on her before she even locked the door. Work kept him busy for four whole days, and he fully intended to make it up to her.

Their journey through the deserted bar was messy. The dwindling light slanted through the chinks in the blinds, highlighting golden motes of dust in the air and a trail of discarded clothing marking their path. At the top of the stairs, he tore his mouth off her long enough to peel her shirt over her head. The scrap of lace she wore underneath it derailed his train of thought entirely.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyebrow quirked.

Tifa shimmied out of her skirt, letting it pool at her feet. He inched his fingertip along the black ribbon that cut across her navel. 

“Do you like it?”

He tossed her shirt aside and twirled her slowly, studying the dark lines that crisscrossed her skin. She watched him over her shoulder, smiling shyly. 

“I like it.” He grinned, skimming his hands along her bare arms.

He dropped them to her hips, dragging her more firmly against him. Her breath hitched when he kissed the curve of her neck. He released her waist to cup her breasts through the lace, her nipples already hard through the gauzy material. A gentle pinch had her arching into his hands.

“You are fucking perfect,” he murmured.

His lips brushed the silver lily that dangled from her earlobe. At the start of the month, he dropped it in her palm with a cocky _‘happy birthday’_ , the bravado concealing his nerves. He thought it was pretty and she agreed. Since then, he hadn’t seen her without it. 

He kissed her collarbone, tugging gently on the ribbon that curved along her hip. “What _am_ I going to do with you?”

She turned, standing on her tip-toes to kiss him, soft and torturously unhurried. He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. 

Sneaking around was fun, but he couldn’t deny it was nice to have her all to himself. 

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied.

He leaned back. “Oh?”

Tifa caught his hand, pulling him towards the door at the end of the hallway. He recognised the photos and the floral scent in the air.

“I’ve got some ideas if you’re stuck,” he offered.

She made quick work of the few buttons he’d bothered with on his shirt.

“I’m good,” she said, as she reached for his belt. He kicked his trousers aside. “Thank you.”

She slipped her fingers below his waistband. He caught her downward glance as she pushed his boxers down. 

He was already standing to attention. “Well... look at what _you_ did.”

She chewed her lip when she looked up at him, biting back a smile. “Do you ever stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Trying to be clever.”

He considered this as the back of his legs hit the bed. He was very, very aware of the heat of her against his skin.

“I don’t have to try,” he replied. “It’s a gift.”

Her mouth found his throat. When she nipped at his collarbone, his knees went weak.

“Ah… _fuck._ ”

“Sit down…” she said. “Please.” 

It was the breathless little _‘please’_ that did it. 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he gritted out as she settled on her knees in front of him. “You sure you want to take point on this?”

There was a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I’m warning you now, I’m a sore loser.” He propped himself up on his elbows so he could see her better. “So I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I do." She wet her lips. "And I don’t plan on losing.”

She was right. She didn’t.

* * *

Reno stared at the ceiling.

Tifa had gone to clean up, sauntering off with a very satisfied grin plastered across her face. He stared at her ass as she left the room and wondered what the fuck he’d done to deserve her.

It had to be a former life. It couldn’t be anything he’d done in this one.

He shivered as his heart returned to a normal tempo. It was chilly without her wrapped around him, and the floor was cool beneath his feet. When he heard the floorboards creak, he rolled his head in the sound’s direction, unwilling to move anything else.

Her whole damned face lit up when she laid eyes on him. “I don’t want to be the one to say it but—”

“No,” he groaned.

“—I told you so.”

_“Fine.”_

She padded across the room. His eyes travelled along her bare legs and settled on the gentle swing of her hips.

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked.

He nodded.

“It’s a miracle,” she quipped.

“I let you win.” He stretched out, cracking his shoulders.

“You keep on telling yourself that.”

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll wipe that smile off your face.”

“Was that a _sentence?”_

Her dark hair was dishevelled, her mouth flushed and swollen. Entirely naked, she was a sight to behold. Not something he got to see that often he drank in every detail. The toned lines, the curves… the silvery scar in the centre of her chest.

They talked about a lot of things, but never Nibelheim. He wondered, though. The more she opened up to him, the more he wanted to know.

He sat up. “Keep taking the piss, I dare you.”

“You know… I think I will.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and stooped to pick up his shirt.

“Don’t even think about it...”

“What?”

He grinned. “You don’t need clothes.”

“It’s cold!”

He summoned the energy to sit up, uncharacteristically clumsy when he finally lurched to his feet. She laughed, eyes gleeful until he closed the distance between them. He lifted her easily and threw her over his shoulder.

“Reno!” she shrieked.

Her protests dissolved into a fit of giggles. He threw back the covers and tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

“There,” he said, pulling the blanket over them both as he dropped onto the mattress beside her. “Better?”

“Hmm,” she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Make the most of it.” He yawned. “You’ve got fourteen minutes.”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “Nearly eight.”

It was dangerously comfortable. Soft and warm, her legs tangled with his own. He rubbed the back of her thigh absently and she sighed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

“I missed you.” Her voice was sleepy in his ear.

He missed her too. The sentiment didn’t quite make it through his filter, though. “Been thinking about this all week.”

“Me too… It’s been quiet without you.”

“Tseng’s a fucking tyrant.”

“Is Elena back from Junon now?”

“Yeah…” It surprised him that she remembered. “How d’you think I got away?”

She grinned. “Well, I assume it wasn’t because you finished your paperwork.”

“Too fucking right… So _this_ is Tifa Lockhart’s bedroom…”

“You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, but last time you had your clothes on.”

She laughed. Her breath tickled his ear. “I like having you here.”

“Yeah?” He pulled her a little closer. “I like being here.”

How _that_ got past the filter, he wasn’t sure.

“We could… it’s just... the kids.” She sounded uncertain. “They don’t know about… this.”

 _This._ Such a teeny, tiny word with so much fucking weight to it. He headed the conversation off the only way he knew how.

“Lucky they ain’t here ‘cause in—” he checked his watch again, for effect, “—eleven minutes I’m going to do some really fucking _terrible_ things to you.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t mess with a Turk, babe.”

“I don’t remember you complaining.”

He squeezed her thigh. “I don’t remember you being so cocky.”

"It's a gift," she joked, mimicking his earlier words.

“You’re not making this any easier for yourself.”

“Oh, really?”

He laughed, rolling her onto her back while he pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw... She squirmed beneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he settled between them.

"Somebody's impatient..." he said, mouth hovering over hers. “How long did you say the kids are away?”

“They’re back Saturday morning.”

"Hmm... plenty of time, then..."

She curled her fingers through his hair and captured his mouth. He was all too happy to oblige, letting the tension drain from his arms as he kissed her back. And that was when it occurred to him, with her lips soft and inviting and her thighs digging into his hips and her nails on his scalp working shivers down his spine. He didn’t want to leave.

There was that line in the dirt again. Mocking him.

“Hands off," he complained. "I’ve still got five minutes.”

She dropped her hands to the pillow, wiggling her fingers to as though to prove a point.

“Good,” he said.

 _Exits._ That was one perfectly valid reason he shouldn’t stay.

“What time do you have to leave?”

Years of training was difficult to ignore. It was a ritual. Scope out the exits, the blind-spots, the things you listened out for in the middle of the night that meant trouble was coming.

"Whenever," he replied, distracted.

He didn’t know the exits or the blind-spots _or_ the things to listen out for. Unfortunately, logic abandoned him at that point. He didn’t give a shit about any of it.

"What are you thinking?"

“My office is pretty close to your bar…” 

“It is?”

Her eyes were bright and warm and fixed on his mouth. 

"Yeah." The tiny scrap of doubt he had left scattered. “What’s for breakfast?”

“You’re staying?”

He shrugged, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “If you want me to.”

Her eyes softened. “I’d like that...”

* * *

The first time Tifa woke up next to him, it was difficult to drag herself away.

It was a long time since she slept next to anybody and turning to find him still snoring quietly threw her. He looked softer somehow, curled on his side with his hair sticking up at angles and his arms wrapped around his pillow.

When she moved, her legs _ached._ Thoughts of the evening (fine, and the early hours of the morning) made her skin hot. She smiled, pressing her face into the blanket.

“Go back to sleep,” he grumbled.

“Sorry…”

She could just see the quirk at the corner of his mouth that told her he was grinning. “You will be.”

“I’ll make coffee.”

She rolled over. An arm and leg caught her before she could escape, dragging her into him. He kissed the back of her neck, his palm warm against her bare stomach.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

“Haven’t you got work?”

“I’ll call in sick.”

“You won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” he agreed. He trailed his fingers along her hip. “I can be late though.”

“No…” She squirmed out of his grip. “Coffee, then work. Come on.”

“Kill-joy.”

She kissed him on the cheek and left the bed, grabbing his discarded shirt on the way past. When she slipped it on, she heard him groan.

He was watching her with one eye open. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

“I’m getting a hard-on just looking at you.”

She fought back a grin. “You have such a way with words.”

“Cheeky bitch.” He rolled onto his back with a lopsided grin plastered on his face. “Wanna see?”

She headed for the door. _“Coffee,_ remember?”

There was no movement upstairs while she made the coffee. When she returned, two steaming mugs in her hands, he was still spread-eagled across the bed.

She left the mugs on the bedside table. “Do you want a shower?”

The second her hands were empty, he grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled her back into bed. She’d forgotten just how fast he was until his knees settled on either side of her hips, pinning her in place.

“I want you.” He trailed kisses along her skin as he unbuttoned the shirt. “ _In_ the shower...”

Afterwards, she sat on the bed, legs like jelly, drinking lukewarm coffee while he got dressed. She laughed at him as he checked his reflection in the mirror and tried to smooth the creases out of his shirt.

“Haven’t done a walk of shame in a while…” he said wryly, running his fingers through his hair.

“Are you sure you won’t be late?”

“I don’t start until nine.”

“It’s eight-thirty.”

“It’s a ten-minute walk, tops.” He crossed the room and pulled her to her feet, taking the mug out of her unresisting hands. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No.”

He grinned, helping himself to her drink. “Good.”

* * *

Tifa usually skipped breakfast. By the time she sorted the kids out, there were deliveries to take in, inventory to run, books to balance… Coffee at least was non-negotiable, regardless of the problems life liked to throw at her.

This morning she was starving. She grabbed a pan from a cupboard and the carton of eggs from the fridge. Today, there weren’t any deliveries or kids or inventory. Instead, there was time for another coffee (scalding hot this time), an omelette, and to bask in the afterglow of a _very_ satisfying shower.

On second thoughts, she grabbed cheese too.

She’d pushed Reno out of the door at five minutes to nine with him still protesting vainly that he wouldn’t be late for work. She kissed him before she unbolted it and was secretly elated when he wedged his boot in the gap on his way out and kissed her again. She could only watch, flushed and slightly breathless, as he sauntered down the street and out of view.

There was a smile on her face that wouldn’t shift. Maybe it was the empty to-do list, _maybe_ it was just Reno. She was happy though, and she hadn’t felt happy for the longest time.

She was beating the eggs when she heard it. The tentative knock at the back door. There definitely weren’t any deliveries due today. 

Frowning, she set the bowl on the counter. “Hold on…”

The keys were on the bar. She grabbed them and hurried to unlock the door.

“We’re closed until Thursday…”

She trailed off. He scratched the back of his neck, expression sheepish, his aquamarine eyes just as uncertain as they were the last time she laid eyes on them.

A year, wasn’t it? Almost?

A lead weight settled in her stomach. “Cloud…”

* * *

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Reno looked up from the report he was doodling in the margins of to find Elena leaning on the wall of his cubicle. There was a takeaway cup in her hands.

“I work here,” he replied.

“Hardly… It’s not even nine-fifteen. You’re early.”

Technically, he was still late, but he wasn’t about to point that out.

Still riding the high of a _very_ productive morning, he grinned. “You’re a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

She waved the coffee cup. “I’m not caffeinated yet.”

“Come back when you are, then. Better yet, _don’t.”_

She rounded the corner, leaning against his desk. Unlike Reno, her suit and shirt were immaculate. “So…”

“What?”

She stared at him expectantly.

“I’m not a mind reader,” he replied when it became clear she wasn’t about to elaborate.

“This is the part when you tell me all about her...”

He should’ve seen this coming, he realised. She’d got that _business_ look on her face.

He opted for his usual line of defence. Ignorance. “Tell you about who?”

“Your girlfriend…” She held a finger up, cutting off his argument. “And before you go after Rude, he didn’t tell me anything. I tried to get it out of him, believe me.”

He paused for a fraction of a second too long. _Rookie error._ “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a Turk,” she pointed out. “And _you_ trained me. Playing dumb won’t work.”

Eventually, people were going to find out. He drummed his fingers on the desk. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you _are_ dating Tifa Lockhart? For fuck’s sake, Reno…”

“It just happened, okay?” He threw his pen down. “It was an accident.”

Elena narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand how you can accidentally stick your—”

“Okay! We’re dating.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He scowled at her. “Does Tseng know?”

“He doesn’t know it’s her.” She shrugged, studying her nails. “I might’ve fed him some false information. You owe me now, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

The memories were hazy now that he tried to analyse them. He couldn’t work out where he slipped up.

“You’re probably wondering how I know,” she continued, pairing her uncanny turn of clairvoyance with a shit-eating grin. “Remember that time we hit Seventh Heaven after work—”

“Be more specific.”

“—and you told us you were going to buy scratchcards on the way home? Only instead you snuck off to bang your _‘not girlfriend’?_ I went back because I forgot my PHS… on the fucking _bar_ , Reno? Seriously?”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t know.”

That was a lie. He _knew._ He’d known for a while now, he was just refusing to admit it to himself.

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“Couple of months.”

“It’s May. That’s more than a couple of months.”

“You know, if you already know all the answers, why the fuck are you asking me?”

“In case you do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Duh… like fall in love with an ex-ecoterrorist and get your head kicked in by Barret Wallace?”

He laughed at that. “I could take him.”

“Yeah? And what about the other thing?”

“I’m just fucking her.”

The words felt hollow even as he said them.

“You don’t _just_ fuck somebody for five months.”

He scoffed. “Oh, really? How about you and Tseng?”

Too late, he realised he’d crossed a line. Elena stared, eyes narrowed. Judging by the tick in her jaw, she was chewing the inside of her cheek. For a second he thought she was going to throw her drink over him.

“You’re an asshole,” she snapped. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

It was a low blow, even for him. Dating Tifa was a walk in the park compared to whatever the hell was going on between Elena and Tseng.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you meant.”

“Elena…”

“You know I saw Strife in Junon, right?”

The change in topic was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. Something twisted in his gut. “Why should I care?”

“Why should you care? Fucking hell, Reno… Junon isn’t that far away.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it fucking bothers me!”

He stood up, jamming his hands in his pockets. Elena didn’t even flinch, her expression coolly calculating.

“ _Just_ fucking her, are you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” he growled, storming out of the cubicle. His good mood was in tatters.

“That’s real nice,” she called after him. “Tell your girlfriend I said hello."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Ushi for [this](https://twitter.com/Ushijoy1/status/1355098852034895877) stunning piece of fanart <3


	6. June

The first time Reno cooked her dinner, he had an ulterior motive.

Kinda...

It was Elena’s idea.

“Ain’t it just assumed by now?” It was a valid argument, just like it was a valid argument the last two times he said it. He clicked his pen irritably. “It’s _implied…”_

“If that was true, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Elena replied, not looking up from her computer. “Just because you keep saying it, doesn’t make it a thing.”

It was a quiet day in the sea of cubicles. Tseng made a pointed comment about outstanding paperwork, and the employees that were still in the office were hard at work.

_Most_ of the employees. Reno was taking advantage of his captive audience.

He craned his neck so he could see Rude over the top of the divider and received a shrug in return. Reno answered it with a withering glare.

“I’m telling you,” she carried on. “Just ask the question.”

“I’m thirty-two… not fifteen.”

“Thirty-three,” said Rude.

“Whatever… my point is I’m not some academy rookie.”

Elena sighed. “You’re making this way more difficult than it has to be.”

“I can’t just ask her.”

“Why not?”

Reno laughed. He clicked the pen again, lowering his voice. _Click._ “Oh, yeah. Sure… Hey Tifa, want to be my girlfriend? For fuck’s sake...”

They were both staring at him now.

_“What?”_

“What’s wrong with that?” Elena sat back in her chair, finally abandoning her report. “That’s literally all you have to—”

_Click._ “No.”

“You’re overcomplicating things.”

“It sounds dumb,” he snapped.

Elena rolled her eyes. _“You_ sound dumb.”

Rude signed his paperwork with a flourish and tossed it in his out tray. “Take her for dinner and ask how things are going.”

Reno frowned. “Uh… no?”

Rude raised his eyebrows.

_Click, click._ “What if she says things are going shit?”

The conversation was rapidly sliding away from him. It was like picking a scab. It stung, but Reno couldn’t seem to stop.

Elena scoffed. “Oh, yeah…‘cause Saint Lockhart’s really going to wait until you buy her dinner to tell you that.”

“Broadcast it to the whole fucking department, Elena. I dare you,” he hissed. “You know what I meant… What if it doesn’t go _well?”_

“Are things shit?” she asked.

_Click. Click._ “No.”

They weren’t. Far from it, actually. She’d broached the subject with the kids, floating the idea that her _friend_ might stay over sometimes and they took it pretty well.

That’s what Tifa said, anyway. He’d slept there (too many times—nobody avoided detection like a Turk) but she didn’t want to force it, so he hadn’t officially _met_ them yet. Not in the _‘hi guys, I’m banging your mom’_ sense, and honestly, it was a relief. Kids were difficult enough before you factored in added trauma courtesy of the Shinra Electric Power Company.

Nibelheim was a conversation Tifa avoided. Sector Seven was one Reno actively turned tail and ran from.

Rude leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Too public,” Reno replied. _Click._ “Too many eyes.”

Elena shook her head. “Holy crap, the great Centre of Attention’s worried about people looking at him…”

“Fuck off.” _Click. Click._ And then... (because regardless of his surly attitude, he needed their fucking _help)_ “If I’m gonna fuck up, I don’t want to do it in public.”

“You won’t,” said Rude loyally.

“You _might.”_

Reno stared at Elena. _Click._ “You know, you’re really helping.”

“What’s the point if you’re just going to shoot down everything we say?”

_Click. Click. Click._

She sighed. “I swear to god, Reno, if you click that pen one more time—”

_Click._

“—I’m going to stick it in your fucking ear.”

“Try it,” he warned.

She gathered up her paperwork. “You’re an idiot. It’s not like you’re asking her to marry you.”

_Cli—_

He peered over the edge of the metaphorical cliff. The vertigo wasn’t pleasant.

His tone was sullen when he stepped back from the edge. “I still think the girlfriend thing is implied.” 

“And that’s _why_ you’re an idiot. Briefing in five, guys…” 

“Just ask her,” said Rude, standing up.

“Rude’s right. Grow a pair.”

Reno didn’t move. “That’s the fucking problem. _How_ do I ask her?”

“Invite her over, cook dinner, tell her you like her and you’re not interested in seeing anybody else,” Elena reeled off. “Easy.”

“Why not just say that in the first place?”

She grinned, reaching in and ruffling his hair on her way past his cubicle. “And miss watching you squirm? No chance… Come on, Tseng’s waiting.”

* * *

He’d told Tifa seven o’clock. She texted to say she was running late and knocked on the door just after seven-thirty. He knew something was off the second he laid eyes on her. Her knuckles were white around the pointy-looking plant she had clutched in her hands, and her cheeks were flushed.

“I’m sorry… Yuffie’s stuck in Junon and I couldn’t get away.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He stepped aside to let her past. “Who’s looking after the bar?”

“It’s sorted.” She didn’t quite meet his eye. “I can’t stay over though… I have to go back and lock-up.”

“Okay…”

He was disappointed but her vague response distracted him from mourning his empty bed. Her friends were scattered across continents and the fact she’d found another babysitter so quickly and looked so rattled made the Turk in him sit up and pay attention.

“Sure you don’t need to be there?” he asked, as she kicked off her shoes.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll drive you home later, then.” 

“You don’t have to…” She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly through her nose. “Actually, that would be really great.”

“Alright.” He took a step closer, running his finger along the edge of a waxy green leaf. “What’s with the plant?”

“Oh… I bought it for you.” 

She held the pot out in both hands. Confused, he took it. 

_“Why?”_

“Your apartment’s really bare.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“It’s good to have plants… they cleanse the air. And it’s nice to have a bit of colour...” She trailed off, staring at the pot. “Yuffie told me this one’s really difficult to kill so you don’t need to do much to look after it… just leave it on your windowsill and water it every so often. It won’t really grow much. I just thought—”

He held the plant aside and slipped his free hand around her waist, leaning in. There was the tiniest hesitation, her frustrated sigh warm against his mouth before her arms wound around him and pulled him closer.

“—you might like it,” she finished when he came up for air.

“I don’t hate it,” he replied diplomatically.

This close, she _had_ to look at him. Her mahogany eyes were soft and filled with worry.

“Something bothering you?” he asked.

“No.”

Far too quick. And there it was again, the flicker in her eyes as she looked away. Reno knew exactly how to spot a liar, and she was terrible at it.

“You’re babbling about pot plants…” His hand crept under her sweater, his fingers splayed against the small of her back. 

“I’m fine.”

Never a good answer. He wasn’t a total stranger to _‘it’s not you, it’s me,’_ but usually, plants weren’t involved and this time it felt too out of the blue. Trying to remain optimistic, he considered how best to coax the truth out of her.

“So the ninja’s got green fingers, huh?”

“Yeah…” She fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt. “I just thought it would be nice, that’s all.”

“You’re fucking weird.”

“You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want it.”

“No, no, no!” He held the plant to his chest. “You can’t give me a present and take it back.”

That made her laugh, at least. This time when he kissed her, she didn’t hesitate. His fingers were just creeping down the back of her jeans when a spiny leaf poked him in the chest.

Tifa extricated herself from his arms, still laughing. “Maybe you should put that down?”

“Yeah, I’m seeing that.” He took her hand, leading her into the lounge. “Getting cock-blocked by a fucking _pot plant_ … You know I’m probably gonna kill it, right?”

The pot was ceramic and painted a glossy navy blue. It looked nice against the dark colours in the room, which meant she’d put some thought into it. Maybe he _did_ kinda like it. He left it on the coffee table.

“You just need to look after it properly…” She frowned, tilting her head as she sniffed the air. “Are you _cooking?”_

“Yeah… I said I’d cook you dinner.”

“When you said that, I just assumed that meant ordering in.”

He clutched his chest. “Lockhart, I am _wounded.”_

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“No, that’s it… you can starve.”

She slipped her hands beneath his shirt, warm fingers tracing the plains of his stomach. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah…” He took advantage of both hands being free to drag her against him. “No dinner for you.”

She closed the gap and kissed him again, slow and hungry, and any idle notion he had that he was the reason for her agitation scattered.

It wasn’t a _‘bad news’_ kind of kiss. It was a _‘let’s get dinner out of the way and do this properly’_ kind of kiss. That he could work with. _After_ they had the _‘this seems to be going well, what the fuck are we doing?’_ conversation.

Before he sorted that out, he needed to know what the fuck was bothering her.

He pulled away somewhat reluctantly, arms still wrapped around her. She pouted prettily and tried to kiss him again.

“Tifa…”

“Yeah?”

“Talk to me.”

“About?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her smile faltered. “I already said, it’s nothing.”

“Just spit it out.” He curled a strand of dark hair around his index finger and slipped it behind her ear. “Please?”

He knew he had her. He saw the conflict cross her face, the moment of resignation when she realised he wouldn’t drop it. She inhaled slowly, smoothing his t-shirt back into place.

“Cloud’s at the bar. Yuffie cancelled, and I didn’t have anybody else to call.”

His fingers curled into fists. “Okay...”

“He… he wants to spend more time with the kids. This seemed like as good an opportunity as any... One of the weekend girls is running the bar, and it meant I didn’t have to cancel on you.”

“You didn’t tell me he was back.”

“He’s not back.” She sighed. “He… called a little while back.”

Reno waited, grinding his teeth into his cheek.

“He sees the kids from time to time… usually in Costa or Rocket Town…” The words tumbled out, jumbling together as she rushed to state her piece. “Barret and Cid organise it. I think everyone decided we needed space and maybe we did, at first, but he doesn’t see them anywhere near enough and they miss him. He just wants more time with them… I can’t deny him that. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

She was looking everywhere else but him now, and it fucking _hurt._ He knew what it meant. She still wasn’t telling him everything.

“Is that okay?” she asked.

“Cloud seeing the kids?” He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”

“You don’t sound—”

“I know you’re lying.”

Maybe his words were a little blunt, but he didn’t soften them. He was too pissed off, not by Cloud’s sudden decision to come back (although he was sure there was time for that to fuck him off too) but by the fact she was downright lying to his face.

That’s what he told himself, anyway. Vulnerability didn’t suit him. She wasn’t supposed to be able to hurt him. That wasn’t what he signed up for.

“I’m not lying,” she murmured.

“Alright, but you ain’t telling me the truth either.” He backed away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“He came to the bar… Two weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t feel like mentioning it?”

“He’s staying in Kalm now. He had a coffee and talked about the kids. He doesn’t think it’s right for Cid and Barret to be in the middle anymore. I know he’s not Marlene’s father, but he’s as good as Denzel’s… and Denzel...”

Her eyes were pleading. Reno wasn’t dumb. Denzel already lost one set of parents, and they both knew whose fault that was.

“Me and Cloud are all he has,” she finished lamely.

“Alright.”

“We were friends for a long time… I can’t just pretend otherwise.”

“No.”

“I told him about you… about us.”

Reno didn’t know what she expected, didn’t know how he was supposed to react to this. Instead, he stared at a point just to the left and slightly above her head, focusing on the copper he could taste on his teeth.

“Please say something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

She finally looked him in the eye, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know how.”

He laughed bitterly. “So you thought you’d just turn up with a fucking plant and hope I wouldn’t notice?”

“I’m happy… with you. I don’t want anything to ruin that.”

“Yeah, well… You’ve pissed me the fuck off.”

“Reno…”

“I just… fuck’s sake.” He rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Your girlfriend’s ex turning up is a lot to fucking process.”

“I know.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

She really didn’t. Cloud already claimed the moral high-ground while Reno was busy scrubbing the blood from under his fingernails. How the fuck was he supposed to compete?

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

There was a tremor in her voice now and he almost reached out, almost took her hand to reassure her. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

“Sit down,” he heard himself say instead. “I should check the food.”

“Reno, _wait…”_

He held his hands up, stopping her in her tracks. “Just… give me a minute, yeah?”

He didn’t know what else to say.

* * *

The first time Reno called her his girlfriend, he was angry.

Tifa didn’t blame him.

She knew Cloud’s return wouldn’t go down well. How could it? So she hid from it, justifying it to herself that Reno didn’t need to know, not until she and Cloud worked out the details and she had something more concrete to tell him. The longer she put it off, the harder it got.

Deep down, she knew she should’ve owned up straight away. It seemed a lot simpler now. These things always did.

When Cloud turned up on her doorstep, it was just as awkward as the last time she spoke to him, when they finally admitted that things weren’t working. He fidgeted with his hair while she made coffee and finally blurted out that he wanted to see more of the kids.

_They could be friends again, couldn’t they?_ And he looked so hopeful… She agreed. Without the pressure of their fairytale ending, they _were_ friends. Two kids from Nibelheim who survived the end of the world together.

Because they were friends, it was far simpler to tell Cloud about Reno. There was a lot less riding on it.

His eyebrows knit together as he tried to process it. Before he could pass judgement, she told him how happy she was… that being her friend meant accepting that she’d moved on… that Reno was a part of her life now and if that was going to be an issue then _no,_ they couldn’t be friends.

He shrugged at that. Didn’t warn her off, or question what she was thinking… He just told her he was glad she was happy and washed up the mugs before he left. When she rang him and asked if he’d mind looking after the kids so she could see Reno, he didn’t hesitate.

Denzel and Marlene were over the moon. She almost suggested Cloud lock up himself and stay over… his room was still there, after all. She didn’t, though. She didn’t want him to. His room wasn’t _his_ anymore. The realisation floored her. 

Now, there were bigger things to worry about.

She’d hurt Reno. Oh, he did a good job pretending otherwise, but he had it written all over his face. The problem was, she didn’t know how to fix it.

Instead, she sat on the sofa, anxiously twisting her fingers together. Give him a minute, that’s what he said. Fifteen ticked by, painfully slowly, and then a crash in the kitchen spurred her into action.

When she entered the room, he was picking pieces of glass out of the sink.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

The brown shards looked like the remnants of a beer bottle. 

“Did you break something?”

“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely towards the fridge as he threw the broken glass in the bin. “Help yourself.”

At least he didn’t ask her to leave. Reassured, she took a beer from the fridge. “Do you have—”

He held out the bottle opener without even looking at her. Silence formed.

“Dinner smells good...”

Still no reply. He turned though, leaning on his elbows on the counter, blue eyes drilling into her. She popped the cap on the beer bottle, unsure how best to proceed.

“I should’ve told you,” she said, eventually. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Which part?”

“That you’re happy.”

She nodded.

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I think you’re fucking crazy.”

_“You_ make me happy.” She took a tentative step towards him, the question burning on the tip of her tongue. “Reno… am I your girlfriend?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like it then.” His face was sullen like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t.

She crossed the room to stand between his feet, pressing her palms against the counter. His eyes narrowed. Before he could argue, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him.

There was a moment of rebellion where he didn’t move a muscle, then he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Are you still angry?” she asked.

He sighed, forehead resting against hers, his eyes less mutinous. She pressed another softer kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Nah…” He didn’t sound convinced.

“I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Yeah.” His mouth quirked slightly. “I probably would’ve kicked off still.”

“Me and Cloud—”

“Babe, I don’t want to talk about it.” One hand slipped free of her waist to tug the beer bottle from her hand. “He’s back. I’ll deal.”

“Okay…”

“I wish I could’ve seen his face when you told him, though.” He took a healthy swig from the bottle.

The mischievous gleam was back in his eyes now, his lips settling into his trademark smirk. The sudden shift threw her; she didn’t really believe he was over it so quickly.

She rallied. “If you want a beer, get your own.”

“Piss off. This _is_ my fucking beer.” He tipped the bottle to her mouth and spilt beer down the front of her sweater.

“Reno!”

“Shit… sorry...”

He didn’t sound sorry. Not in the slightest. Instead, he kissed the drips from her chin, her jaw, her throat… She whimpered when his lips grazed her collarbone and didn’t stop him when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her sweater.

The shrill beep of the kitchen timer had him untangling himself with a wicked grin. “Looks like you’ll have to wait.”

“Looks like it,” she agreed, rescuing her beer from his hand.

* * *

Dinner was good. He’d plated up the lasagne with his usual cocky bravado, but she didn’t miss him rub the back of his neck nervously when she jabbed her fork in. They ate on the sofa (he didn’t usually need a dining table, so he never bought one) with the television playing unheeded in the background.

When she returned from washing the plates up, a well-placed foot caught the back of her knee and sent her stumbling. She landed in his lap and he kissed her before she could argue.

Now, she was curled up in his arms and fighting the urge to drift off. It was far too comfortable laying there, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He traced idle patterns on her thigh with his fingertips, the lights from the television reflected in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said sleepily.

“I live alone and I look like this—” he flexed his bicep to illustrate his point, “—of course I can cook. Tseng’s a fucking nightmare if we fail a physical.”

“No, it makes sense. I just… it was a surprise.”

He shifted his weight slightly, drawing her closer. “See, you’re learning all about me.”

“I am.” She yawned.

He didn’t reply straight away. “Tell me something about you.”

“Hmm? You’ve seen my file.”

When he’d joked previously about the Avalanche files, it horrified her. He just laughed it off. The Turks had files on _everybody,_ after all.

“You’re missing the point,” he said, inching his fingers a little higher. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I can’t think of anything...” She wondered if this had something to do with Cloud. Wracked her brains for an answer. “I don’t like ice-cream.”

“Who doesn't like ice-cream?”

“It was cold where I grew up. I like warm things.”

“Alright...” He laughed. “I’ve never broken a bone.”

“What?” She sat up a little straighter. “How is that possible? You’re covered in scars.”

“Well, yeah…”

“And you’ve never broken anything?”

“Shot, stabbed, poisoned… _electrocuted._ No broken bones… Your turn.”

She settled back against his chest, grinning into his t-shirt. “I’m scared of spiders.”

“We just let Elena deal with them.”

_“You’re_ scared of spiders?”

“I’m a fucking _Turk_ , I’m not scared of anything.” He kissed her temple. “I just don’t like them.”

“I don’t think this is going to work then.”

“Hey! Rude doesn’t like them either.”

“We always had huge spiders in the autumn. They came in from the log piles—” she held her hands out, making a ring with her fingers, “—they were this big... I woke up once and there was one at the end of my bed and I screamed the whole place down.”

“Standard reaction.”

“My mom came running in and chased it away with a slipper…” She trailed off, the memory settling in her stomach like a lead weight. “I haven’t thought about that in the longest time.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight… it was just before she died.”

He squeezed her thigh. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“She didn’t like spiders either.” She pulled at the fragments, struggling to keep the picture clear. “She played the piano... sang while she was making breakfast. I don’t remember that much… not anymore.”

“Was it the fire?”

“Oh! No. She was sick. She died before…” Before Shinra, before Sephiroth, before Nibelheim _burned._ “What was your mom like?”

“No idea.”

“Oh…”

“I’m over it,” he replied, his tone a little too breezy. “Got picked up by the Turks when I was eighteen. You don’t want to know about the rest of it, trust me.”

“You grew up in Midgar?”

He grinned. “Sector Four slums, babe. I floated to the top, that’s the main thing.”

“I hated Midgar at first. I was claustrophobic for the longest time… The air in Nibelheim was so clean but in Midgar...”

“Eau de Slum... Wanna hear something crazy? When I moved up top, there were days when I fucking _missed_ Sector Four. Stink and all.”

“There’s not many days I miss Nibelheim,” she murmured. “Too many bad memories, in the end.”

“It’s the bad ones that stay with you… that’s the fucking problem.”

Silence settled over them. She traced creases in his t-shirt with her fingertips, struggling to find the words she wanted to say.

Reno squeezed her thigh again. When he spoke his voice was overly bright. “I had to go undercover at the Honeybee Inn once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… Hand-to-hand isn’t easy in those outfits.” His eyes were shining. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “Tell you what though, I look fucking great in heels.”

She laughed at that, pressing her face into his chest.

“Your turn,” he reminded her. “Top that. I dare you.”

His skin was warm against her cheek. She breathed him in, letting her eyes slip shut. “I need to think about it.”

“See, you can’t.”

June. Six months since that first clumsy, tequila-soaked kiss. For once, everything felt like it was coming together. 

“I really like you, Reno.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again.” He kissed her, grinning against her mouth. “You are fucking _crazy...”_


	7. July

The first time Reno met the kids, it was an accident.

That’s the word Tifa used to describe it, anyway. It made her feel less guilty.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about it. He needed to meet them, and he always seemed to be into the idea. Somehow, something always came up.

In the end, she tricked him.

The end of June brought long, sunny days with it. By the end of July, he’d officially been her boyfriend for six weeks and was still creeping around Seventh Heaven like a Turk on a mission. The kids knew he existed and Marlene at least was enthusiastic about meeting him, but Denzel was quiet. Worried.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what was wrong. While she and Cloud always skipped the black and white narrative of what happened in Midgar in favour of the far greyer truth, the facts were still unavoidable. Reno and Rude dropped the plate and left Denzel an orphan.

Sometimes, good people had to do bad things. It was an uncomfortable truth on both sides of the war.

The Turks that Denzel knew helped defeat the remnants... carried kids to safety in the face of Bahamut Sin. They evacuated Midgar under the shadow of Meteor and rebuilt the city. They weren’t the Turks that wiped out an entire sector. Not anymore.

Denzel didn’t know the specifics. Reeve told Cloud that much at least. He knew the Turks planted the charges that took out the pillar and that was the extent of it. What good would it do him to know Reno helped flick the switch? That he fought them in the name of Shinra—in the name of the _greater good_ —when they tried to stop him?

The greater good. That far-off, shining star that made her own hands just as dirty. The shades of grey blurred the lines, blunted the blade. It took her years to come to terms with it all. Edge should have been a fresh start for everybody and it still could be.

Denzel didn’t _need_ to know.

The park was busy. Sunshine and the school holidays brought kids out in droves, so Tifa chose a patch of grass further out from the playground equipment WRO so thoughtfully re-purposed from the slums. She would’ve avoided it anyway, regardless of how busy it was. The salvaged remains were a little too familiar, a little too difficult to stomach. _Too many memories._ Shouts and laughter drifted through the warm air.

Sparring. It was the bait Tifa laid to get both of them out in the sun. Denzel wanted to learn and fine... she might’ve glossed over the fact the kids would be there when she suggested Reno join her. She saw little sunshine with the bar to run, and the park was neutral territory. Marlene lay on a blanket, paper and crayons scattered around her while Tifa corrected Denzel’s stance and forced herself to keep smiling.

Nerves made that difficult.

“Keep your gloves up,” she said, tapping Denzel’s elbow. She raised her own hands. “Like this.”

“Okay.” Denzel nodded, readjusting.

“Good… now try a right-hook again.” 

They’d been at it for fifteen minutes already, and her palms were sweaty inside the leather pads she wore. Denzel hesitated at the last moment and lost the power behind his swing.

“You won’t hurt me,” she assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

He was. She could hear it in his voice.

“Denzel…” She hesitated. Now or never. “Let’s have a break, okay?”

“Okay.”

When she sat down on the grass, he followed suit, elbows resting on his knees. Almost thirteen and so tall already… he was quickly catching her up, and it was only a matter of time before he towered over Cloud.

“You’re doing really well,” she offered, running her fingers through the dead grass.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“It just takes practise, that’s all.”

Denzel turned to look at her. And there it was again, the worried frown. “Do you think Cloud will come and spar with us? He said he’d teach me, before...”

“Cloud’s busy,” she said a little too quickly. His name cropped up a lot of late. “But Reno might come along. Is that okay?”

A moment of hesitation. “Sure.”

She tried to work out how best to get him to open up. “I really want him to meet you and Marlene.”

“Because he’s your boyfriend. Like Cloud was?”

“Yeah.”

The break-up wasn’t easy for the kids, Denzel especially. He missed Cloud. Maybe that was why she held on so long after everything had fallen apart. It wasn’t right, though. It wasn’t _fair._

Denzel nodded slowly. Scrubbed his palms across his trousers. “We should meet him. Marlene would like that.”

“What about you?” Tifa stopped picking at the grass.

“We have to meet him, eventually.”

“What’s worrying you?” The words seemed to stick in her throat.

“He works for Shinra, doesn’t he?”

She frowned. “Who told you that?”

“I asked Cloud. He said they’re different now… that they’re trying to be better.”

“They’ve done a lot to help rebuild Edge,” she replied carefully. “Done a lot to help us. Things are… complicated.”

Denzel considered this. “I don’t like Shinra. But you wouldn’t like Reno if he was a bad person.” 

“He’s not,” she murmured. 

A lead weight settled in her stomach. She was being selfish. Her heart shouldn’t want Reno the way it did. She couldn’t explain it; it made little sense. This was too much to ask—

“You were so sad,” Denzel said quietly, eyebrows knit together. “When Cloud left… I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Is that why you’re worried?”

He nodded.

She looped her arm around his shoulders. “But it’s my job to worry about you.”

“You smile more now. Is that because of Reno?”

“I’m happy. It took a lot of soul-searching.” She struggled to find the words she wanted to say. “I was lost for a little while. But I found myself again. You and Marlene helped with that.”

“That’s all I want. For you to be happy.”

“You need to be happy too.” She straightened out a crease in his t-shirt. “Denzel, the things that happened… In Midgar…”

“Cloud said we can’t change the past. No matter how hard we try. But we can shape the future.”

It sounded like something Cloud would say. For now, she could see the chance to talk things through rapidly shrinking. She should force the issue, tell him the truth. 

She bottled it. 

Instead, she smiled. Forced brightness into her voice. “So you’re not worried about meeting Reno?”

“No… he sounds cool. Do you think he’ll want to spar?”

“I don’t know… maybe,” she replied, distracted. “You ready to carry on?”

Denzel grinned. “Sure.”

* * *

It didn’t take him long to get the hang of it. His fist connected sharply with the pad and Tifa adjusted her position to accommodate, smiling proudly.

“That’s a pretty mean right hook you’ve got there,” drawled a familiar voice.

She turned, feeling the heat creep along her neck. Reno was standing on the path, hands in his pockets, his expression difficult to read.

“Hi…” She lowered her hands. “You found us.”

“I did.”

Suddenly, the pads felt clumsy. She shook them off, letting them fall to the ground. Wiped her clammy palms on her jeans and headed over. Denzel trailed behind her.

“Uh… Denzel, this is Reno…”

To her surprise, Reno held his hand out. “Hey.”

Denzel shook it. “Hi.”

Silence formed. Reno scratched the back of his neck.

“Marl—” Tifa turned. Marlene was standing behind her, brandishing a handful of crayons and a piece of paper. “Oh… this is Marlene. Marlene, this is Reno.”

Marlene’s dark eyes were solemn. “You drink in the bar.”

Reno frowned. “Yeah.”

“My daddy says you’re a—”

“Daddy didn’t mean that sweetheart,” Tifa cut in quickly.

“Sounds like daddy’s gonna be in deep sh—trouble later,” Reno replied. He reached for his wallet and produced a couple of crumpled notes. “Gotta stay hydrated if you’re sparring. First rule of ah… spar club. There’s a van at the bottom of the hill. Knock yourselves out.”

Denzel turned to her. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” she replied. “But make sure you bring back the change, okay?”

She watched them head off down the path, Marlene skipping to keep up. She couldn’t look at Reno. His eyes were drilling into her.

“Come to the park and we’ll spar,” he said. “Walked straight into that one, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t seem to pin you down.”

He shrugged. “Guess I haven’t made it easy.”

“So you _have_ been avoiding this?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s important.”

“I know.” He sighed. Took a step forwards and slid his arms around her waist. “Do I at least get a proper hello?”

She looked back along the path. No sign of the kids. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

The hands at her waist slipped under her t-shirt, fingers splayed against her sweaty skin. Ignoring her attempts to keep it civil, he dragged her closer. Kissed her properly.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he grumbled, his breath warm on her cheek. “Dirty tactics, babe.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Nah…” He laughed. Kissed her again. “Had to get it over with eventually, right?”

There was something hollow in his laughter, something not quite right in his tone. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Reno… talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Why you’ve been avoiding this.”

“I haven’t,” he replied. Too quick. “I’m shit with kids.”

“They’re going to love you.”

“Then they’re dumb.”

She loosened her hold on him. Dropped her hands and fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt. “Right.”

A moment of hesitation and his expression softened. “Maybe I avoided it a bit.”

“All you have to do is say hello and you can leave.” 

The words were snappier than she intended. He rubbed his fingers through his hair again. 

“I didn’t—”

“All they had was water…” Denzel was standing behind them, holding out a bottle and a handful of coins. “Is that okay?”

“Water’s fine.” She forced a smile.

Reno shook his head when Denzel offered him his change. “Nah… keep it. Buy food after or something.”

“Thanks.” Denzel shoved the money in his pocket. “There’s a hotdog van. Can we go there for lunch?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Are you Tifa’s boyfriend?” Marlene peered up at Reno through her eyelashes.

“Uh…” He glanced at Tifa.

“Yeah,” she replied. “He is.”

Marlene nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Do you want to spar with us?” asked Denzel.

“Reno can’t sta—”

“Do you love her?” asked Marlene.

Reno looked like a Chocobo caught in headlights. Tifa laughed nervously, grabbing Marlene’s shoulders and steering her away. “Say, Marlene… why don’t you finish the picture you were drawing for Cloud?”

“Why can’t you stay?” asked Denzel.

The ground could open up and swallow her right about now, and she really wouldn’t mind. Reno looked like he was about to bolt, and Marlene was still staring at him, the gears turning behind those big brown eyes.

Apparently, Denzel didn’t notice the awkwardness. He barrelled on. “Cloud said he’d teach me but he couldn’t make it, so Tifa’s showing me how.”

Any nervousness evaporated. Reno’s mouth split into its trademark smirk.

“Is that so?” He ducked and picked up the sparring pads. “Come on then, kid. Let’s see what you got.”

* * *

The first time Reno met the kids, Tifa set him up.

Sure, he was briefly annoyed, but it didn’t last. Realistically he knew this was coming, and he _had_ been making excuses.

Kids were tricky at the best of times. These two were fucking impossible.

He didn’t _know_ if he was good with children. He had no point of reference outside of his own sorry excuse for a childhood, and Tifa’s kids… well, they came with baggage. A whole fucking sector’s worth.

Still, nobody tried to knee-cap him. Somehow, he doubted that was a good sign. If the tables were turned and he was coming face to face with the person who made him an orphan, pre-teen him probably wouldn’t have smiled and shaken their hand. Something was off.

Or maybe he would... Maybe Denzel was just keeping his enemies close.

Did ten-year-olds even think like that?

Marlene was cute, at least. She hit him with a set of puppy eyes that put Elena to shame before she yanked the rug from under his feet with her dumb questions ( _love?_ what kind of thing was that to spring on a person?). Now she was sitting on the grass drawing pictures like butter wouldn’t fucking melt. And Denzel? Well… he was quiet and a little gangly, and Reno was ninety-nine percent certain he was holding back every time he threw a punch.

Another perfectly acceptable, totally boring left hook. It landed against the leather with a dull _thud,_ just like the other ten before that. At least the kid was prepared if he ever had to fight a sparring pad.

This sucked. Tifa was watching him, cross-legged on the grass, her eyes boring into the back of his neck like she was waiting for him to fuck up and there was a very real chance he might. Damn the kid for appealing to his ego and bringing Cloud into it.

What he needed was to stop overthinking this. Getting people to open up was his speciality, and Denzel was a person… just on a smaller scale. If Tifa wanted him to bond, he’d fucking bond.

He just wasn’t sure whether she would approve of his methods.

“Okay, hold it there,” he said before Denzel hit the pads again. “Want to try something more interesting?”

Tifa sat up a little straighter. Reno decided not to look at her. He recognised the wistful look on Denzel’s face, though.

“Like what?”

“Try and take me down.” Reno shucked the pads and dropped them on the floor. 

“What?”

He adjusted his position. Raised his hands. “Come on. Take me down.”

“Reno…” Tifa stood up, a little unsteady from sitting on her feet.

“I know what I’m doing.” He grinned, turning to Denzel. “Reckon you can do it?”

He had a hunch. Denzel might be a kid, but he was a street kid. You didn’t last out there without picking up skills, Reno knew that better than anybody. What better way to make friends?

Denzel looked conflicted. “Won’t I hurt you?”

“Nah…” He deserved an award for not laughing in the kid’s face. “Come on. Give it your best shot.”

Tifa took a step closer. “I don’t think that’s—”

Denzel ran at him. Dipped his shoulder and barged straight into Reno’s chest, taking his legs out from underneath him with a messy kick. Sure, he saw the kid coming from a mile away, but he knew how to showboat when he needed to and dropped like a stone.

He hit the ground harder than he intended, underestimating just how parched the grass was. The sun was in his eyes when he rolled onto his back. He shielded his face with the back of his hand and found Tifa glaring down at him.

“Oops?” Reno offered.

“Sorry!” Unlike his girlfriend, Denzel rushed to help him up. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t sweat it.” He dusted himself off and clambered to his feet. “Now do it again, but this time don’t drop your shoulder. I know which way you’re heading if you do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He raised his hands again. “Kid, you need to stop worrying so much. I wonder where you get that from.”

He quirked an eyebrow in Tifa’s direction and yes, _finally,_ there it was. An actual smile.

“Don’t worry about hurting Reno,” Tifa said a little too pointedly as she sat back down on the grass. “He can handle it.”

* * *

It could’ve gone worse.

Once Denzel got over his nerves and stopped being so damned polite, they really got into the swing of things. It only took forty minutes before Reno wasn’t so much faking getting thrown on his ass but was actively trying to defend himself. He held back enough to let Denzel win and was only half exaggerating his pained limp when they called it a day. 

They grabbed hotdogs for lunch. Maybe kids weren’t _that_ bad. 

Reno walked them back to the bar. Denzel chattered about motorbikes and schoolwork the entire way, and Marlene presented him with the picture she drew as she disappeared through the door. In it, a red-haired stick-man was holding hands with a brown-haired stick woman and _fine…_ it was kinda cute if you were into that sort of thing, which he wasn’t.

_Much._

He thought things were going well, but Tifa was quiet. Distracted. She kissed him goodbye, and he promised he’d swing by later on. When he returned, he was feeling way too domestic. He knew how to fix both problems.

He knocked impatiently on the locked door and had his mouth on her before she’d even closed it behind him.

“Hello to you too,” she gasped, wriggling out of his clutches long enough to bolt the door.

He caught her. Pressed her back against the wood. 

“I’ve been on my best behaviour all fucking day,” he whined. “And it’s all your fault.”

“Your best behaviour?”

“Did anybody die?”

She smiled at that. Kissed him again, all wet heat and teeth and tongue. He ran his hands along her hips and squeezed her ass hard, grinding himself against her. His blood was rushing south, and her curves pressed against him were doing nothing to help that.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, forcing him to come up for air. “As much as I’d like to carry this on… do you want a drink first?”

Her lips were shiny and red, begging him to kiss her again. He _knew_ that voice, though. “Do you _want_ me to want a drink first?”

“Maybe.”

“Babe…”

She smiled. Pressed another kiss to his lips, gentler this time. “I thought today went well.”

“Hmm…” He let her lead him to the bar. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“You’re all they’ve talked about all afternoon.”

“They don’t get out much, do they?” He grinned, picking at a chip in the varnish. “Have you forgiven me yet?”

“For?”

“Teaching your kid how to kick your ass.”

She laughed, heading behind the bar to grab him a beer and popping the cap. It was icy when she pressed it into his hand. “I was a little concerned, at first.”

“I mean, I’m the first to admit I’m not great with kids, but I’m not gonna knock out a ten-year-old.”

“He’s twelve.”

“Same thing.” He took a long pull from the beer. “Get over here.”

She rounded the bar, and he caught her hand, dragging her into him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he felt her contented sigh, warm against his skin beneath his unbuttoned shirt. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pressing her lips to his chest. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” He put his bottle down on the bar and drew her closer. “I guess I’m glad you did. They’re good kids. Not that I have anything to compare them to… Elena, I guess.”

He laughed, running his fingers through her hair. Silk beneath his fingertips.

“It’s a weight off my mind,” she admitted.

“But…”

He felt her stiffen against him. “What do you mean?”

“Tifa…” There was still a weight on _his_ mind, one that didn’t feel like it would ever lift. “Does he know about Sector Seven?”

Her silence told him everything.

He settled against one of the high stools. “So that’s a no.”

“He knows enough. It’s difficult…”

Understatement of the fucking century. He waited for her to continue.

“He knows you work for Shinra. He knows you made bad choices... He knows we did too.”

Bad choices? That didn’t really seem to cut it. “Be more specific.”

“He knows Shinra dropped the plate. That the Turks laid the charges… His parents died trying to evacuate people… he thinks it was all a terrible accident. It _was_ an accident.”

“It wasn’t.” Following orders wasn’t an accident, no matter how tightly Shinra tied his hands. He still made the choice. “He needs to know… _fuck_ … does he even know I’m a Turk?”

“He doesn’t need to know.” She pulled away, eyes shining. “It’ll just cause too much hurt.”

“Tifa…”

“You’re not a bad person.” Her faith in him only made it worse. “This is a clean slate… for all of us.”

His hands would always be dirty, no matter what he did to scrub them clean. There were some things you never came back from, never outran. He didn’t deserve to.

Suddenly, this didn’t feel like a conversation he wanted to have. It was a good day, for fuck’s sake. Why ruin it?

He grabbed his beer, running his nail over the label. When he spoke, his voice was brittle. “Sparring went well.”

“I thought so,” she replied quietly.

He swallowed down another mouthful and tried to force some normality into his tone. “Kid’s got talent.”

For a second, he thought she was going to press the issue. He could see that in the way she peered up at him, lips parted, radiating concern. He tilted his head, let his mouth settle into a smirk.

Like he couldn’t hide what he was thinking... He was a fucking _Turk._

She hesitated a moment longer. “It was sweet of you to let him win.”

“Who said I did that?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah… okay,” he conceded. He took another, much larger pull from the beer. Tried to focus on the bitter taste and the warmth of her body pressed against him. “I might’ve held back a little. You owe me, by the way.”

“Do I?”

The bottle was almost empty when he placed it back on the bar. “You promised me a sparring session.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Mmm.” He leaned into her, bumping his nose against her cheek. “I’m free now...”

“We can’t spar here.”

“Why not?” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Scared you’ll lose?”

She chewed her lip. “The kids are upstairs… We can’t make too much noise.”

He grinned slowly and straightened up. There was an area in the middle of the bar without tables. Sometimes it served as a dancefloor when Tifa’s patrons were in the mood. He headed straight for it, shaking out his wrists theatrically. It was all too easy to push the trauma aside, box it all up and shove it back into the darkness where it belonged. He had enough fucking practise.

One day, it would catch him up.

When he turned, she was limbering up, arms stretched above her head. His eyes landed on the sliver of toned stomach exposed where her t-shirt rode up.

“See if you can take me down,” he challenged, still staring at the bare skin.

“Piece of cake.”

“Oh, really?”

She nodded, grinning.

“One rule.” He held up a finger. “Nothing above the shoulders. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.”

She dropped her hands. “What exactly do you think is going to happen?”

He shrugged. Bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes wicked. “What do you _want_ to happen?”

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his beer. Finished the dregs of the bottle. He stared at her throat as she swallowed and wondered whether to let her win. Realistically, there was only one way this was going—

She lunged. Caught him on the shin with a well-placed boot and would’ve taken him down with her follow up if he hadn’t twisted away at the last second. He’d forgotten how fucking fast she was.

“Gotta be quicker than that, babe,” he quipped, adjusting his stance.

Her eyes were shining. “I’m just testing your reflexes.”

He dodged her next kick, grinning the entire time. “Lockhart, have you lost your tou—”

Her fist connected with his ribcage and he staggered backwards, eyes watering. Retaliated with some fancy footwork and smacked her ass when she failed to move in time.

“I don’t remember learning that one,” she said, keeping her guard up.

“I thought it was a given we were pulling our punches?” he wheezed, holding his ribs.

Her eyes softened like he knew they would. She rushed to his side, warm hands skimming his torso. “Are you hurt?”

He took her feet out from under her and caught her wrists before she hit the ground. The wooden boards were hard beneath his knees when he lowered her to the floor and seated himself across her hips.

_Sucker._

“Did you really just fall for that?” he asked, letting go of her hands.

She grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and yanked him towards her, lips crashing into his. He wound his fingers through her hair and kissed her back with equal fervour, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. She was warm beneath him. Soft. Her arms curled around his neck and pulled him down on top of her.

“I was right,” he said, teeth grazing her bottom lip as one hand crept below the hem of her t-shirt. “Knew you couldn’t take me down.”

Her breath was hot and damp against his mouth. He skimmed his thumb along her jaw.

“Reno?”

“Yeah?”

She took advantage of his moment of distraction. Kicked out with her legs and overbalanced them both, slamming him back into the floorboards. He groaned, struggling to catch his breath as she pinned his wrists to the ground.

He grinned up at her. “Call it a draw?”

“Depends… What do I get if I win?”

Her voice was husky. _Fuck,_ she was getting as much of a rise out of this as he was. Her dishevelled hair fell around her face and he craned his neck, trying to close the distance between them. Every muscle in those perfectly sculpted arms was working hard to keep him pinned in place, even when she shifted her weight, leaning forward to kiss him.

Clever girl.

Luckily, he knew how to exploit a situation. He rolled his hips, and she whimpered against his mouth.

“Depends,” he purred. “What do you _want_ to win?”

* * *

The darkness reared its ugly head later, jerking him awake in a surge of flames and twisted steel. He knew the nightmare like the back of his hand.

Tifa lay beside him, dark hair forming a halo around her on the pillow, her breathing soft as she slept. He held his breath, waiting to see if he’d woken her, relieved when she didn’t stir.

He stared at the ceiling.

Keeping Denzel in the dark was a mistake. He’d find out eventually, and he’d hate Reno when he did. Why put off the inevitable?

Then the spiral started. This wasn’t sustainable. It couldn’t be. Her forgiveness was a sham, a product of her own guilt, as though she thought granting him salvation could cleanse her own conscience. One day she’d realise just what kind of monster he really was. Did he really want to stick around to see the look in her eyes when she did?

He sighed. It was gonna be one of _those_ nights.

He rolled onto his side, trying not to disturb her. Her eyes fluttered open, shining in the near darkness.

“Hey...” Her voice was sleepy. “Can’t you sleep?”

“Nah…”

She wriggled closer. He lifted his arm, and she settled in at his side.

“Anything I can do?” she asked.

She was warm against him. He trailed his fingers along her waist, grounding himself in the sensation of her skin beneath his fingertips. “Go back to sleep.”

“No…” She yawned. “I’m not tired.”

“Liar.”

She laughed. Pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. Burying his nose in her hair, he closed his eyes and let her warmth take him.

One day, it would catch him up. Not today.


End file.
